A Dangerous Game
by Yukishimo
Summary: [preBC, RenoxRude] A Turk is sent in to suppress a criminal threat and is pitched into a perilous game of cat and mouse where the roles change, where loyalty and duty are different things, and where a treacherous heart is the most dangerous thing of all.
1. Prologue

**A Dangerous Game**

**Summary:** (preBefore Crisis; eventual RenoxRude) A criminal organisation threatens to undermine Shinra, and a Turk is sent down into the slums to suppress it. But when pitched into a game of cat and mouse where the roles can change and even a Turk has to fight to survive, there is nothing more dangerous than a treacherous heart, when loyalty and duty become two completely different things.

**Disclaimer:** _Final Fantasy VII_ doesn't belong to me; it belongs to the talented folks at Square Enix, character design by Tetsuya Nomura. I just wanted to satisfy my obsessions with the Turks and my OTP, and the boys were more than happy to oblige.

**Rated:** M

**Warnings:** Oh... everything. Language, yaoi and sexual content in later chapters, substance abuse, violence, Turks doing Turk stuff, did I mention yaoi?, etc.

-

_Prologue_

Night was never dark enough above the plate. Sure, the darkness was almost absolute down in the slums, but in Upper Midgar there were too many lights, what with the streetlights glowing at every corner, the Shinra tower all lit up like some kind of glowering Christmas tree, and the Mako reactors belching their eerie green glow hundreds of feet into the sky. Too many lights, and not enough shadows, except for a couple of choice alleyways.

In one of those alleyways, another light sprang into life and flared orange in the darkness, this one at the end of a cigarette. Its owner took a deep drag, caught the cigarette between two bony fingers, then let it out in a breath of bitter smoke.

He sighed deeply. He'd needed that.

He'd only just made it this time. The net was getting tighter. He'd known it would've, sooner or later, but he'd anticipated later rather than sooner. Either he was losing his touch, or the Shinra goons were getting better. Catching onto his pattern. He'd have to do something about that.

Another drag. He pressed himself against the wall. Keeping still. From somewhere distant, he could hear the wailing of a siren. His body went tense; he leaned back, trying to merge with the shadows. Listening. Waiting.

And waiting.

Too far away. Not him.

Another drag. An accustomed tap. A little snowfall of ash fluttering to the ground.

The sound of a helicopter. Close. Almost above him. He pressed his back harder against the wall.

A searchlight flashed briefly over the alley. He grimaced, bracing himself.

The light passed over, unconcerned, but for a brief moment it illuminated the opposite wall. And a poster.

He could barely read, but he could sure as hell recognise himself. And a hell of a lot of zeroes.

"Fuck," seemed the most appropriate thing to say as he reached out and ripped the poster from the wall.

The helicopter again. Louder. Lower.

The searchlight flashed again. Then it returned.

A split second later, he heard shouts and hurried footsteps at the end of the alleyway. Cursing, he dropped the remains of the cigarette and ground it under his boot. Then he started running.

Footsteps echoed at the other end of the close. He skidded to a halt.

Goons in every direction.

Dammit, when had they gotten so good?

Desperate, he looked up. There was a windowsill about six feet above his head.

When the two parties of Shinra guards met each other, all they found was a piece of paper torn contemptuously from the wall, and the still-glowing stub of a cigarette. They glanced around in confusion, exchanged bewildered remarks then new orders, and ran back the way they'd came.

From a rooftop twenty feet above them, a dark figure watched their departure, then melted into the shadows.


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

He knew it had to be important when he heard Heidegger and Veld arguing inside the office. Well, he heard Heidegger arguing: the blustering, shouting voice, incoherent from this side of the door, was unmistakable. The short pauses scattered through the whole tirade where obviously where Veld was arguing back, albeit much more quietly.

Rude raised an eyebrow over his sunglasses to Tseng.

"About an hour," Tseng said, in reply to the unasked question.

"What about?"

"That's why Veld wants to see you."

As if on cue, Heidegger slammed out of Veld's office. He caught sight of Rude and Tseng, gave them both a look of undisguised loathing, then strode away down the corridor. Neither bothered to retaliate, and Tseng led the way into the office. Once inside, he said, "Sir, I've brought Rude to see you, as you ordered."

"Thank you, Tseng," replied Veld. "You can leave us alone now."

"Sir." An instant later, Tseng was gone, the door shutting quietly behind him.

There was a short silence, broken only by the sound of Veld tapping at his computer keyboard, before he stopped and, after opening a drawer in his desk and bringing out a folder, looked up at Rude.

"There's been an incident," he said. "The Sector Three Mako thief was sighted again last night."

Ah. The Mako thief. Two months ago it had come to the attention of the Shinra Electric Power Company that someone was managing to channel reserves of Mako from the Number Three Reactor, and that it was being processed and sold illicitly, and cheaply, in batteries, as materia, and God only knew what else. Guards had managed to catch sight of a figure once or twice in the reactor or the surrounding area, but so far there had been nothing close to resembling a capture, or even a decent description. And now they'd struck again. No doubt the President would be getting a tad uncomfortable up on the seventieth floor.

"The difference is," Veld continued, "the thief has unfortunately shown himself to be far and away more capable than your average reactor guard. They had him cornered in an alleyway last night, guards coming at him from every direction, a helicopter with a searchlight and a thermo-sensor above him - and he still managed to escape."

He opened the folder and flicked through the pages until he reached a couple of photographs tucked neatly inside. He picked them out and pushed them across the desk towards Rude.

"Here. One of the guards managed to capture these on his phone the second time the thief was sighted. We had them enlarged then put on posters which have been distributed around Sector Three. You may want to take a closer look at them, Rude."

Nodding, Rude picked them up and took a look at them. They were dimmed, blurred and indistinct, obviously taken in a great hurry, perhaps even whilst the photographer was running, but in them he could just make out what looked like a thin figure in dark clothes. The face was turned away, but there was the hint of a bony chin, and a mess of red hair brushed into spikes.

"What do you think?" Veld asked.

"Not much of a lead," Rude replied. "It could be any slum kid."

"And therein lies our problem. The soldiers have been unable to apprehend him because he just melts into the shadows, then gets up to no good again when he thinks the coast is clear. It's gotten to the point where even the President has been informed, and he wants to take severe action."

"Us." It wasn't a question.

"More specifically: you."

Rude nodded slowly before asking, "An assassination, or a straightforward capture?"

"Neither. At least, not for the moment."

"Sir?"

"Want I want you to do first, Rude, is to track this kid down. It's unlikely he's working independently; he's probably just be the pilot-fish: the lead to the bigger catch. It's likely there's a whole network of these Mako thieves. If we can expose and... eliminate something like that, we'll really become a force to be reckoned with within the company." He smiled grimly. "We may even be able to get Heidegger off our backs for a while.

"You'll be starting effective immediately. Ensure you make all the necessary preparations. I will send Tseng with a car in three hours' time."

Rude nodded. "Understood, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

Rude turned to leave, but before he could take a step towards the door, Veld spoke up again: "Please bear in mind that you now hold the company's reputation in your hands, Rude. We can allow nothing to undermine Shinra Inc. Nothing. Failure, as the cliché goes, is not an option."

-

Sector Three was where the thief had last been sighted, so Sector Three seemed the obvious place to start. Tseng came with the car, as arranged, and they arrived at the reactor within the hour.

"He wasn't spotted within the actual reactor this time," Tseng said, as they flashed their Turk IDs to the guards and went inside, "but it will probably be beneficial to you to try to figure out exactly how he gets in and out. So far, none of the guards have been able."

"Potential for a trap," said Rude.

"Exactly. Veld is determined that nothing, no stone in this mission, should be left unturned."

They were inside the reactor now. The lights were down, the gloom broken only by the almost luminous green glow from the Mako crucible below them, the walls and shadows alike stained with the noisome light, tainting their skin with the same colour. The air was heavy with the oily, choking odour of the processed Mako, and throbbed with the constant hum and growl of machinery, the floor vibrating with it. Rude was already making careful mental notes. The awkward lighting could definitely allow someone to sneak around unseen if they were careful, and noise would definitely be enough to mask clumsy footsteps and all but the loudest noises.

The two Turks followed the maze of walkways, elevators and ladders until they finally reached the hub of the reactor, where the Mako fermented and steamed beneath the walkway, where the reek was at its headiest, and which was at present thronged with blue-uniformed Shinra soldiers with rifles and Guard Hounds, and a handful of figures in white overalls.

"The forensics team is here, as you can see," was Tseng's commentary, "but so far they have very little to show us. You may be better off speaking with the guards.

"I will leave you here," he continued. "You should be able to work out a strategy from here. Any queries, any reports, relay them to me first. I'll make sure they get through to Veld. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Tseng smiled briefly, though the shadows leaped into every angle of his face and made the smile look slightly sinister. "Best of luck, Rude."

With that, he was gone, and Rude was left to his investigation. Deciding to take Tseng's advice, he sought out the senior reactor guard. He found him to one side, a sour-faced little man who looked decidedly offended at the presence of the extra forces and the scientists. He looked even more offended when Rude showed him his ID.

"Turks, huh?" His voice was almost a snarl, and when he spoke, it was more to himself than to Rude. "Dunno what else the bosses think they'll get from your lot. Anyway," now he seemed to be talking to him, "I'm Kirk Lyal, senior officer in charge of the Number Three Reactor. Not that you'd know it, not with the 'special forces' runnin' around..."

That cheap dig was obviously intended for him, but Rude decided to ignore it. "I'm investigating the Mako theft. Do you have any new information for me?"

_Keep it cool_, he thought. _Keep it professional_. That was his motto. No matter how much the other party seemed determined to get on his wick.

Lyal's lip curled slightly and when he spoke, it was with ill-disguised hostility. "What, you mean apart from the fact I've reported his appearance here three times? Do the bosses think I'm hidin' something? Is that why they sent in the suits? To arrest me?"

Professionalism, sadly, was a virtue often wasted on lower-ranking goons. Rude had to fight the urge not to slug the man in the face. Still, if this was how he wanted to play it...

"Not at the moment," he replied. Then he allowed his mouth to form a thin, deliberately unpleasant smile. "But if they think you're trying to withhold vital information from them, then maybe they _will_ send me down again. And not to arrest you."

Worked like a charm. The Turks' reputation always preceded them. All enmity and disdain drained from Lyal's face as swiftly as if someone had pulled a plug, and his gaze started flickering across the floor.

"This way." His voice was a reluctant grunt as he turned round and scurried away. Rude followed at his own pace. He was pretty sure the goon would be willing to wait for him.

Lyal led him further along the walkway, past the fenced-off area and the guards, to the central nucleus of the reactor: a dead end. Rude was just about to demand whether this was some sort of stupid joke, when Lyal pointed. "There."

He was able to make out the shape of a crude rope ladder, swinging close to the far wall. Following it with his gaze, he could see that it led up towards the network of cables and piping above the Mako, though because it disappeared into the green-black shadows, it was hard to tell exactly where it ended. One thing was for sure: the pipes would be a handy escape route from the reactor; they criss-crossed over the entire area and ran alongside God-only-knew how many stairs and walkways.

"This was how he got away," Lyal supplied unnecessarily. "Little punk was like a monkey on that ladder. Shot all the way up, and that was with a container full of liquid Mako on his back and a gun in one hand."

_Speed_. Rude made another mental note. _Strength. Agility_. He had to admit, despite himself, he was impressed. This kid was good.

"Didn't you or your men attempt to follow him?"

Lyal's face flushed red with indignation. "Whaddya take me for? 'Course we did. Fucker took out two Roboguards and got one of my men in the shoulder before he was even halfway up."

Rude nodded at nothing in particular. "Where does the ladder go? How high?"

Lyal shrugged. "High enough. I got the men to backtrack and go back up and meet him, but by the time they'd got there he was already long gone. There's a few ways out the reactor - main entrance is only one."

Rude didn't reply, but started walking away. He heard Lyal make an indignant noise, but ignored him. He'd gotten everything he needed from Lyal; it was obvious the reactor guards couldn't tell him any more than they'd told Veld already. And the forensics team had little to show for their efforts: he asked one of them and was told to instead check on the team in the alleyway where the thief was last sighted. Satisfied that there was nothing else he could get from the scene of the crime, Rude left the reactor.

Once outside, he pulled his PHS from his jacket pocket and dialled in a number. There were a couple of rings, then a click, then a voice.

"_Tseng_."

"It's Rude, sir."

"_Ah, Rude. Any news?_"

"Nothing new in terms of leads. Forensics has a team in the alleyway which may have something, though. But I was calling to report that Veld was right: the thief is far more competent than any reactor guard. This mission looks like it could take some time."

-

Hark had obviously been looking forward to a lie-in and a bottle of whiskey to himself, but damned if he was going to get one. Reno wanted answers, and he damn well wanted them now.

"Reno." Hark looked both shocked and indignant at the intrusion. "Didn't expect you back so soon. Everything go according to plan?"

"Like fuck it did!" Reno pushed his sunglasses back up his forehead to glare.

"You get the Mako?"

Reno sneered and chucked the sealed container onto the bed. Hark shuffled up against his pillows and picked it up, turned it over in his hands incredulously, then looked up at Reno with narrowed eyes, whiskey-murk replaced by anger.

"What the fuck is this?"

Reno hadn't expected anything different, and so rose to the challenge. Hark wasn't the wisest person to piss off, but then again, neither was he.

"I'll tell you what the fuck that is, Hark," he said. "That's all I could pump out the reactor before security realised I was there and set the Guard Hounds on me, yo. What the fuck happened to Jonsey? And Taj? They were s'posed to be helping me out, but _somehow_ I ended up with two batteries and a fuckin' chopper on my ass!"

"Security found them, too. They had to get outta there."

"And forgot to tell me, when I'm only one fuckin' PHS call away?" Nope, the security excuse wasn't going to cut it with him, not when he'd barely escaped with his life, never mind his Mako.

"Obviously wasn't time," said Hark. "I told you, Reno, the Shinra're getting used to us. Three guys turning up all the time outside the same reactor are gonna get noticed sooner or later."

"Then send someone else!" Reno curled his hands into fists.

"We've been over this. You're the only one able to get inside the reactors without bein' seen."

"Then explain why the Shinra have my goddamn picture pasted on every other wall in Sector Three!"

That forced Hark to sit up and stare. "What'd you say?"

"You heard me. They've got up fuckin' _wanted posters_ in the streets, ain't they? Ones with _me_ on 'em. Offering several grand for information, probably."

"How the fucking hell did they get your picture?" Hark was out of his bed in a heartbeat, pulling what was obviously last night's jeans over his boxers and last night's shirt over his head.

"How the fuck should I know?" Reno snarled. Beneath his anger, he felt a brief of flash of triumph. Anything to rattle Hark's chain. "I was hiding in some back alley and there it was, right in front of me. Someone got a _photo_ of me, and they've blown it up and stuck it on a bunch of posters!"

"Anyone else?"

Reno shook his head. "Didn't see any of anyone else. Just me." He made a sound between a sigh and a groan and started fumbling in his shirt pocket for a packet of cigarettes. Lighting one up, he took a long drag. "Sod's fuckin' law."

Hark groaned. "This is fucking bad."

"You're tellin' me, yo."

"You know what this means, don't you? We're gonna have to wait a damn long time before we're able to go back to the Number Three. And they'll probably have extra security on the rest of them now. Business is gonna go down the goddamn shitter now."

He didn't miss the reproach in Hark's voice, and he knew he wasn't supposed to. Incensed, Reno thrust the cigarette in his leader's direction and snarled, "Don't you fuckin' blame me, Hark. I bust my bastard guts ferrying your Mako from the reactor. I've probably breathed in enough of the stuff to join SOLDIER. I've been shot at by Shinra goons more times than I've fucked girls at the Honeybee Inn. So don't you start blaming me for any of this!"

Hark groaned loudly, rubbing his temples. Reno watched him grimly, wanting nothing more than to smash the bastard's teeth in, but instead settling for flicking his fag ash on the carpet. _Fuckin' carpet_, he thought contemptuously. Hark was the only one he knew who had a goddamn carpet in his room, let alone a bed with proper pillows. Reno couldn't remember the last time he'd had any of those things, if he'd ever had them at all. Hark could bitch about his Mako business all he wanted, but at the end of the day, if the Shinra came down on their little outfit, it wouldn't be Hark who'd end up biting the kerb courtesy of a suit: it'd be Reno and anyone else Hark found necessary to point the finger at to save his ass. The Shinra would probably fucking reward him for providing information, too.

"Get the fuck out, Reno." Hark's voice was like slap on the face back to reality.

"No sweat, yo."

Seething, Reno slammed his way out of Hark's room and down the stairs, dropping the butt of his cigarette on the warped floorboards and grinding it viciously under his boot, cursing under his breath and damning Hark to hell with every step. A couple of Hark's lackeys brushed past him, and he turned to snarl at them, too.

_Damn this whole fucking place to hell_.

Hark's gang had picked many a poor, lost kid off the streets, to build up his vastly expanding "army". The gang, aptly called PHANTOM, was good enough to remain hidden in the shadows and, at the same time, have influence in four sectors. It had seemed the ideal place to go when he was thirteen and PHANTOM had taken out most of his old gang. And, for a while, it had been. He was a good fighter, a damn good one, and he was fast, and he could wriggle easily in and out of tight spots - literally _and_ figuratively. Hark had recognised him quickly for the asset he was, and he'd soon gotten high up the pecking order.

Now it hardly seemed worth it.

He was outside now, on the doorstep of Hark's place, looking out over the Sector Five slums disconsolately. He lit another cigarette and leaned back against the wall, taking the occasional drag and looking up, towards the plate that hid the sky from the slums and hid the slums from the rest of the world.

It was so fucking depressing.

He wasn't sure when it had all gone wrong, but somewhere between joining PHANTOM and then becoming Hark's delivery boy, it had all gone downhill. And why, he didn't know. The Mako was a good idea: the folks in the slums jumped at the chance to buy it cheaper than the Shinra offered it, and it was bringing good money to PHANTOM. He wasn't sleeping under old newspapers. He was part of one of the biggest gangs in the slums. For a fucked-up punk who lived under the rotting pizza and couldn't see the sun, he was doing not bad. He had a place. When he was a kid, that was all he'd wanted. A place. Too bad that place was godawful.

-

Rude stepped out of the alley, followed by the member of the forensics team with whom he had been talking. He took a moment to observe the evening beyond the city. Night was falling now, and while out in the country the night would be velvety-black and sprinkled with stars, this was Midgar, and the night sky would take on the green stain from the Mako reactors and the stars would have to fight to get a look in.

"Sorry I couldn't be more help," the scientist said, head lowered apologetically. The guy probably expected to be beaten up or murdered for not being able to give Rude some decent info.

Rude simply shrugged the apology off. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from the second team, anyway. A ripped poster had been found, and the butt of a cigarette, but those had been sent away to the lab for assessment, and even if they did show up fingerprints, Rude doubted they'd be much help. The likelihood was that he was dealing with a punk from the slums, and the ID management there was, at best, mediocre. Not like above the plate, where Shinra could keep tabs on the population as it pleased.

"Any results, contact Tseng Li, Turks' field leader," was all he said in reply to the scientist before walking away. The day was ending and, to his exasperation, had offered up very little to start with. Practically the only thing he had to follow was the photograph Veld had given him, and God only knew how much help that would be.

_Time to call it a day for now_, he decided. A quick stop at the nearest bar so he could collect his thoughts and have a couple of drinks, then he could resume his search in the morning. After all, he was a Turk, and one of the best at that. Even if it took him a day or a year, he would get the job done. He'd just have to start looking elsewhere for his info...

Funny how inspiration just kind of hits you like that. In fact, inspiration hit him so hard he almost came to a halt. He smiled slightly. There was one place where he'd be guaranteed some answers.

-

**Author's note:** Well? What d'you think? Nothing too exciting, but I'm trying to set the scene a little before the action starts. Feel free to give me some feedback, especially constructive criticism. I'm trying to refine my writing style, and I'd really appreciate any suggestions or comments anyone has to make. Thanks.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Woo! I'm back with the second chapter! It would've been up sooner, but school and university applications caught up with me. Anyway, many thanks to everyone who reviewed, it's very much appreciated.

This chapter continues to set the scene, and also contains this fic's first action scene. I'm not too confident about my battle-writing skills, though, so I'd really appreciate it if anyone has any pointers on how to write a decent action sequence.

So, on with the show! Enjoy, or don't, but don't forget to leave behind some concrit.

-

_Chapter 2_

It was practically a ritual now. As soon as it was over, Reno would pull away and fish his trousers from the floor, then he'd make his way over to the window, light up a cigarette and smoke it while looking out. It was usually - uh - entertaining to see who was hanging about outside. Today it was one of the Honeybee Inn's girls, pressed up against the wall with some john in a feverish clinch. A feverish clinch that was obviously going for free. No whore anywhere, not even at the Honeybee, was _that_ affectionate with a guy, not even if he was President Shinra himself and paying his weight in gil.

He watched with amused curiosity for a few seconds - they were really going at it - then he tapped his cigarette and watched the ash scatter down towards the two lovebirds. They didn't notice, so he decided to try a different tack.

"Yo, buddy," he shouted, leaning out the window, folded arms resting on the sill, "I'd try eatin' a decent meal from time to time if I were you."

_Priceless_. The whore and her man jumped apart as if electrified, heads darting round wildly as they looked for the owner of the voice, before they finally looked up, consternation written all over their faces. Reno gave them a cheery wave, flicked the rest of his cigarette out, and ducked back inside.

"Who're you talking to?" Cassie asked. She was up now, clothes thrown on haphazardly in the knowledge that they'd be coming off again soon, probably even in less than an hour's time.

He chuckled quietly as he bent down, retrieving the rest of his clothes from the floor. "Just one of your lot and her boyfriend, yo."

"Oh."

"Anyway -" he delved into his pocket - "what do I owe ya? Usual, right?"

"Right."

He counted out the gil and tipped it into her palm before heading for the door. Then an afterthought occurred to him, and he turned back to her. "Oh, yeah, before I forget, yo: they're auditioning for _Loveless_ at the theatre up in Sector Three. Might wanna check it out."

The deep-set weariness on Cassie's face lit up with a ridiculously hopeful smile. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"I'll definitely check it out. Thanks so much for telling me, Reno."

He grinned back. "What can I say? I'm feelin' generous. Just remember to reserve me a front-row seat on opening night, yo."

"Yeah, yeah." She was trying her damnedest not to smile, and failing. She waved an impatient hand towards the door, bangles jangling musically. "Now get the hell out before you jinx me."

"Going. See ya round."

"Bye."

When he'd shut the door behind him, Reno finally let the grin twist into the grimace that had been hovering behind it through them whole conversation. He remembered the smile on Cassie's face and felt almost guilty for telling her about the auditions. She was only at the Honeybee in the first place because she couldn't get anything but "Don't call us, we'll call you" from every theatre she'd ever auditioned at. Which was sad, really. She had the talent - there were times when she almost had him convinced that she didn't actually resent him for walking through that door - but she just didn't have the looks. But she'd been in born in Gongaga, so she'd told him, so she also didn't have that inborn, Midgarian gene that told you to quit when you were behind.

"Christ! There y'are. What kept ya?"

Reno looked up. There was a familiar figure hovering in the doorway, arms folded impatiently. Jonsey. One of the seven others Reno shared a poxy bedsit with in Sector Five, and the nearest thing he had to a best friend. Or at least something loosely based on a best friend. Drinking-and-whoring-buddy was probably nearer the mark.

Jonsey took a couple of steps in his direction, running one hand through his long, straggling hair. "What kept ya?" he repeated.

Reno smirked. "Well, y'see, there are some of us who are virile enough that we can actually last beyond five minutes, yo. Though I know you might have to use your imagination for that, pal."

"Geez, you should have your own stand-up show."

Reno laughed. "Now there's an idea. Imagine me up on stage, can you?"

"I'd be the one in front with the tomatoes."

"Whatever. You're just jealous of my _gift_, yo. Anyway, let's get the hell outta here. Others out yet?"

"Yeah. Just you we're waitin' on."

Reno shrugged and flashed Jonsey a lopsided grin. "So, I'm a stud. Sue me."

He led the way out the corridor into the main foyer of the Honeybee Inn. After the dimness of the bedroom and the corridor, the bright lights and garish colours of the hall made his eyes hurt. A painfully skinny girl in one of the Honeybee outfits hovered by the door and said goodbye and told them to come back soon, her smile painted on as bright and fake as her make-up.

The others were standing in one corner, a knot of grim-faced punks with bad hair or no hair, weapons deliberately visible to shout, "_Don't fuck with us!_" Among them was Shun, another of Reno's roomies, and some others he knew vaguely, like Vance, Mirk and Gregor. Members of PHANTOM, of course, and while the rich businessmen in their nondescript but high-quality overcoats might not have known that, and passed them by without even looking, the slum johns definitely did, and were giving them a wide berth.

The man in the middle of the pack, the tallest, with a mane of tawny hair and a mottled scar almost bisecting his face, caught sight of Reno and Jonsey and called, "Took ya long enough."

Reno gave his easy smirk. "Sorry, Samson. Didn't mean to make you feel inadequate or anythin', yo."

Samson's lip curled and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. "Get yer smart ass in gear before I kick it, Reno."

"Would it ease the pain any if I offered to pay for the first round as soon as we're outta here?"

"Be my guest."

Reno would have replied, but he was cut off by a sudden rasping sneer: "Busy day at the dungheap, Samson?"

The members of PHANTOM turned. In the entrance to the Honeybee hulked a group of figures with the same grim-faced, dead-eyed menace as Reno's comrades. Except these ones weren't his comrades. He recognised the speaker instantly. He was as tall as Samson, with muscles like boulders and a face that looked as if it had been smashed into a brick wall while it was still warm.

Flint Malone, a prominent member of VENDETTA, the biggest thorn in PHANTOM's side. The two gangs had been warring over territory long before Reno had joined up with PHANTOM, but even after all this time, they had achieved nothing but a bitter stalemate.

Didn't stop the members of each gang beating the shit out of each other whenever they met, though.

Flint strode forward, a leer twisting his smashed-in face as he made eye contact with each and every one of the PHANTOM guys. He whistled. "Fuck's sake. Fancy seein' you here, Samson. Who'd you have to mug for a member ticket?"

"Think _you_ should be here, Flint?" Samson retorted. "Would've thought this place'd be a bit old for you."

"Nah, he's cool," Reno smirked. He cocked his head in the direction of one of the many doors leading from the foyer. "Mukki and the hot tub are through that way, Flint. Enjoy your stay, yo."

The leer dropped from Flint's face to be replaced by a scowl that didn't improve it at all. "And just who the fuck are you s'posed to be, kid?"

Reno smirked darkly. He'd never spoken to Flint before, only knew him by sight and reputation - but, hey, he was feeling lucky. Winking conspiratorially to his comrades, he stepped forward with just enough swagger to make a muscle in Flint's face jump.

"Name's Reno," he said cheerfully. "Thrilled to meet ya. I've never met a _celebrity_ before, yo."

Flint growled. "Run back to your mum, kid, and let the big boys play - yeah? - before I rearrange your face for ya."

Reno heard his comrades tense behind him and saw, out the corner of his eye, hands reaching for weapons. Insulting or threatening a member of PHANTOM was kind of a package deal: insult one and you insulted the entire outfit.

Further emboldened, Reno decided to see just how far he could push Flint. On the edge of his vision he could see people gathering to watch the showdown, whores and punters alike, the doorman in his straining maroon waistcoat hovering anxiously, little piggy eyes darting from him to Flint then back again.

_An audience, huh?_ This opportunity was just too good to pass up. Chuckling, he said loudly, "What, so I'll look like you? Thanks, but I think I'll pass, yo."

Flint's eyes darted to Samson long enough for him to sneer, "The hell'd you find this little wise-ass? You that desperate for men?"

Reno grinned. "Nothing 'desperate' about me, man. I'm one of the best PHANTOM has to offer."

Flint returned his attention to him, a smirk plastered over his anger. Reno guessed he wasn't used to being sassed by kids half his age and height. Oh, well. First time for everything, right?

"That a challenge?"

Reno patted the retractable metal rod at his hip. He'd bought it with his cut of the Mako profits just the week before, from one of Wall Market's more expensive weapons dealers, and he was dying to try it out on something. Or someone.

"Might be," he said casually, shrugging. The crowd gathering in the foyer were starting to get edgy, shifting and shuffling, goggly-eyed with the fear and fascination of watching a showdown between PHANTOM and VENDETTA.

Flint started to laugh, a low, incredulous, unpleasant laugh. His cronies, encouraged by this, let loose a few sniggers of their own. Flint's fighting gloves made a strange squeaking noise as his fists clenched. Reno refused to be intimidated, his smirk still on his face and one eyebrow arched. He waited till the last uneven strains of the chuckle had died away before adding his own note of defiance to the silence:

"You finished, yo?"

The last traces of the laugh died from Flint's face. The next thing Reno knew, he was flying backwards, pain shearing down his spine as it dragged across the floor. He came to a stop in an ungainly sprawl of arms and legs, blinking away stars, his cheek throbbing. Looking up, he saw Flint with a raised fist and a smug look.

"Bastard!"

An instant later, he was leaping forward, making a sharp lunge for Flint. He found the catch on the rod, felt it spring open, and swung. Flint fell to one side with a wounded bellow, while he landed nimbly on his feet and made a show of dusting himself off. He raised his head and grinned cheekily at the other VENDETTA punks, who all looked decidedly wrong-footed.

"The hell you waitin' for?" Flint snarled behind him. "Get the little fucker!"

They went for him like a pack of Bandersnatches. Reno felt his grin wobble; his hand tightened on the rod. A huge hand pitched towards his throat. He side-stepped and brought the rod down hard, cracking the punk on the back of the skull and kicking the prone form away. He was dimly aware of Jonsey and the others making their own charge. The two sides met with a resounding clash.

Screams rent the air; the spectators were now piling over each other in their desperation to get the hell out the way, fighters and onlookers suddenly one giant swarm. Reno fought like a madman through the struggling press of bodies, trying to work out who was who. In front of him, a Honeybee girl fell to the ground, screaming. She immediately disappeared from sight as one of Flint's punks cut through the fray and planted himself in front of Reno, wielding what looked like a length of lead piping in scarred hands. _Crap_. Reno shifted his weight on one foot, swinging the rod to re-affirm his grip on it.

The pipe cut through the air, aiming straight for him. Not a moment too soon, he threw up his arm, jarring the attack with his rod. The punk pressed down on him, undeterred, harder with every second, until Reno could feel his back protesting, and his arm started to feel the strain of keeping the attack at bay. He gritted his teeth, trying to gauge some way to shift the balance, but the punk only applied more pressure, forcing his arm back by slow, tortuous degrees.

The strain turned into full-fledged pain.

Desperate, he dug his heels into the floor, trying to regain some kind of leverage - but while one half of his brain was calling for him to counterattack, the other was screaming for him to let go.

Another bolt of pain had him hissing. Instinctively, he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

_Shit. This isn't good._

He was suddenly aware of a movement behind him. Laboured breathing. Familiar. Flint.

_Oh - fuck. Fuck!_

Pipe-man was still bearing down on him. And he could hear Flint just behind him.

"That's it: hold the little bastard there. I wanna get a good crack at him."

Sweat prickled his forehead. There was only one way he could possibly get out of this - and it would be damn difficult.

_Now or never._

He felt Flint's shadow fell over him - and gave way. He dropped his arm, and the unexpected momentum carried Pipe-man forward, Reno only just managing to hop out of the way in time. Almost in the same instant, he spun round and lashed out as Flint struck out.

A split second too late. He missed - just - and he was forced to take a jump back to avoid a punch which would have surely split his face open. But he misjudged his landing, stumbled, and fell back. He went down hard. His eyes snapped up immediately to see Flint towering over him, a slow leer spreading across his face as he cracked his knuckles.

"Bark worse than your bite, huh, brat? By the time I'm done with you, there won't even be enough of you to send home as a warning to yer buddies in PHANTOM."

_Oh, no, you fucking don't..._

Reno's grip tightened on the rod. His body was protesting with sharp barbs of pain, but, gritting his teeth and willing himself to _move_, he forced his smirk back into place and regained his footing -

- only to be shoved back down. Surprised, he looked up - to see Samson. Their eyes met for a brief moment, long enough for Reno to see the strange blaze in Samson's eyes as he said, "Stay the hell outta this one, Reno." Then he threw himself at Flint.

Reno was too busy being indignant to really see what happened next. All he was aware of was a flash of white light, a blast of bitter cold, then Samson was on the ground, twitching. Reno stared in confusion, then he saw a green-white glow - which disappeared under Flint's sleeve.

Ice spell.

The bastard had materia.

As Flint turned back to him, Reno's mind immediately jumped to the materia on his own wrist. _Lightning, All - fuckfuckfuck!_ Just when he thought he wouldn't need his Fire materia...

A rush of cold hit his face, and he only just managed to leap to one side. The spell slammed into the wall, spreading a tracery of jagged, frosty patterns up the paintwork.

Now was his chance. With Flint wrong-footed from the failed attack, Reno jumped, swinging his rod at the thug's head. Flint's hands shot out, grasping the weapon and one of Reno's wrists. He sneered. Reno snickered back.

His feint had worked.

Next moment, his foot slammed into the side of Flint's head. Flint's grasp on Reno and the rod gave away as he staggered back. He growled, then made another lunge. Reno aimed, socking Flint a good one in the cheek. Flint's head snapped to one side; Reno struck out with the rod. There was a sharp, sickening crack and Flint Malone - top thug of VENDETTA, one of PHANTOM's worst enemies - crumpled to the floor with a broken neck.

Reno panted, wiping sweat from his forehead and waiting for the adrenaline rush to assuage. He'd done it. He'd fucking _done_ it. He'd just beaten Flint Malone of VENDETTA. Straightening up, he glanced around his surroundings. The foyer was nearly empty now, save for the fighters themselves. The ground was littered with bodies, not all of them gang members. He saw the Honeybee girl who'd fallen earlier, surrounded by a gaggle of her colleagues. Besides Flint, five other VENDETTA thugs had been taken down, and the rest of them were taking off as fast as they could.

And on their side...

Jonsey and Mirk were supporting Shun, who was utterly limp, his eyes closed and face pallid.

"Shun!" Reno rushed over and dropped down next to the prone form, grabbing a wrist and looking for a pulse. He didn't find one. His heart skipped a beat; he grasped the thin shoulders and shook them, calling out: "Shun, Shun, buddy, wake up - speak to me, yo..."

Jonsey was shaking his head, wiping sweat and blood from a scalp wound out his eyes. "No good, man," he said ruefully. "We already tried that. He's a goner."

Reno cursed. His elation died completely when he saw that there were a good few PHANTOM members on the floor, including Vance and Gregor. The ones who were still standing looked like they were going to collapse at any moment.

"Shit. This was a bad one, yo."

Jonsey nodded. "Didn't expect to see them here."

"Yeah..." Despite himself, he chuckled. "Bit classy for them, ain't it?"

Mirk spat on the floor. "Bastards'll pay for this!"

Reno looked around at the fallen VENDETTA members. "Looks like they already did, yo."

It was then he caught sight of Samson staggering to his feet. Leaving Jonsey and Mirk with Shun, he ran over to him as Samson clutched at the wall for balance. Reno offered a supporting hand, but it was knocked aside. Samson glared at him, dark eyes venomous, scarred face twisting in a snarl.

"Nice mouth, Reno."

Reno frowned, confused. Then he got it. Samson was blaming _him_ for the fight. Anger flared up under his numbness and he hissed back, "It woulda happened anyway, fuckwit. Admit it, if I hadn't pissed off Flint, you would've."

Samson cast a dark look at Flint's body before aiming it at him. If looks could kill, Reno had no doubt he'd be joining Flint on the foyer floor.

"You've had your fun for today, kid. Now get the hell outta my way."

Heaving himself up, Samson marched, with ill-disguised difficulty, across the foyer and out of the building. The doorman made way for him sharpish. Reno watched him leave, frowning long after he was gone. He should be revelling - he'd just taken out one of Hark's top ten enemies - but Samson's hostility had him furious - and perplexed.

_What the hell was that about?_

-

The door caught the strategically-placed chimes and they rang cheerily as Rude entered the shop. The place was empty, with no customers and not even anybody behind the counter; but he heard an exclamation of surprise from the back room and, just a second later, a portly man in a green shirt bustled through, wiping his hands with a grimy rag and fixing a salesman's smile on his tired face.

"Afternoon, sir, and what can I do for y...?"

Abruptly, the smile fell away and his voice died into silence as soon as he saw Rude. Or rather, Rude supposed, as soon as he saw his suit. Most people in the slums, especially Wall Market, knew a Turk when they saw one. He watched as the shopkeeper fought to regain his composure, terror turning his face ashen, his white fingers twisting the rag in his hands, his mouth opening and closing silently a couple of times before he managed to squeeze out, "Uh... y-yes... sir? H-how can I help you?"

Rude stepped forward and, for the sake of professionalism if nothing else, laid his ID on the counter. The shopkeeper looked down at it, then back up at him, wide-eyed.

"Y-yes...?"

"I'm conducting an investigation on behalf of the Shinra Corporation."

"Investigation?"

"Yes. There are some things I'd like to check in this shop. And some questions I'd like you to answer."

He didn't miss the man's reaction: he was visibly trembling, small eyes darting here and there as if looking for an escape route, body tensed as if ready to run.

"I... I don't know what kinda help you think I can be..." His voice was shaking more than his body. The rag was nearly fraying beneath his fingers. "I'm just a shopkeeper... don't know nothing about crime."

_Sure, you don't._

"In that case, you should have nothing to worry about."

He wouldn't relax, though. Rude could see in his face that he wanted to run, and fast, but just didn't dare. Nothing inherently suspicious about that: he had seen the same kind of reaction on countless faces before him in the past, whether they were guilty parties or not. But, an investigation was an investigation, and the shops in Wall Market were the ideal place to start tracking any unauthorised suppliers. Especially since he'd learnt that this particular shop had recently started selling materia at rates much lower than those designated by Shinra.

"Shut the shop," he said. "This won't take long." When the man hesitated, he added, "I'd recommend you did as I told you."

The shopkeeper was almost petrified with fear, but somehow he managed to acquiesce, ducking out from behind the counter and scurrying to lock the door. He turned back with the air of a condemned man. Rude waited until he had returned before commencing.

"You'll have heard of the recent rise in Mako prices."

The man nodded, trying to look sincere and regretful and overdoing it. "Yeah. Not good, to tell ya the truth. No disrespect to them at the top, sir, but it's gettin' hard to afford the prices they're offering for materia and the like now."

Rude glanced around the shop, at the rows of materia and restorative items on sale. He reached over to open the till, taking a quick but thorough look inside before replying. "And yet you seem to be managing to keep up a substantial business here."

Aha. As soon as he'd spoken, the shopkeeper shrank away from him. His face flushed; he whimpered like a sick dog. He took a couple of frightened steps backwards, even though Rude knew he had shown no sign of moving. Instead he stood in silence, studying the little man from behind his glasses, watching him get more and more agitated.

His interviewee couldn't meet his eyes. His words seemed to have scattered in his fright, and when he finally spoke, it was only in fragments: "Well... yeah, sir... y'see, it happened like this... I... I got in a... a delivery from the suppliers - y'know - just before the... the prices went up..."

The prices had gone up at least a month ago.

"One delivery was enough to last you a month?" Rude allowed his incredulity to creep into his voice. This man was running down a dead-end and, what was more, he knew it. Rude could see the sheen on his forehead. The terror was almost tangible.

The man didn't even try to speak, just looked up at Rude in gape-mouthed terror.

Rude drew himself up to his full height, tightening his gloves as he did so.

_No point in beating about the bush._

The shopkeeper now looked like he was trying to merge with the wall. Rude walked over, slowly, menacingly, and towered over him.

"Now," he said, voice coldly calm, "I want some names."

"W-what names?"

_That the way you want to play it? Fine._

His hand shot out and seized the man by the shirt, shoving him against the wall and lifting him until his feet were dangling off the ground. He leaned in, close, uncomfortably close, and spoke in his softest, most dangerous, voice:

"If you want to keep this business, you'll give names."

"I... I don't know -"

"Yes, you do." Rude's free hand found the gun tucked inside his jacket. The man uttered a trembling cry as the cold metal pressed into his temple.

"Talk."

"I don't know who they are! They just came in one day and said they could sell me cheap materia! And they've been comin' back ever since!"

"Who?

"_I don't know!_ Bunch of punks from the slums. One of 'em was just a kid."

_A kid..._

Rude dropped the man, who simply curled into a shivering ball at his feet. Something like a sob wheezed out his throat. Rude reached into his breast pocket, drew out the photograph Veld had given him, and pressed it into one hand. The cowering man peered at it for a long moment, eyes slowly widening with recognition, then nodded vehemently.

"Yeah... _yeah!_ This could be him! Skinny, red hair... I recognise him - yeah!" The sobs had cleared and been replaced by a look of almost pained relief.

Not that he was off the hook yet. Far from it.

"When was the last time he came in?"

The vendor's face screwed up as he tried to remember. "I think... it was last week. Yeah, that's it. Last week. There's always two of them. One's a gangly kid with red hair - just like the photo - and the other's a guy with long, dark, straggly hair."

"And do they have names?"

"I told you! I dunno what they're called."

Rude didn't argue. He simply cocked the gun. The man whined and drew as far back as he could.

"You were saying."

"I didn't get their names!" He was almost crying again. It was pitiful. "They didn't tell 'em to me! But I heard 'em talkin' to each other, quiet-like - if this helps - and... I dunno if I heard right... sounded like their names were Jones and Reynold, or something..."

"You're sure?"

"_No_, I'm not, I just told ya!" The shopkeeper's voice was getting shriller. "But that's what I heard. Please, man, I don't know anything, I wouldn't even have bought their stuff - but - y'know - it's hard to make a living down here under the Plate... you know... you _must_ know..."

Rude tuned out the rest of the breathless pleading as he considered his options. If the man was telling the truth, then the Mako thief and a crony had been selling their illegal materia for a while now. It was likely there would be a good few more shops involved, too, especially in Wall Market. This wasn't going to be easy.

Still, he had descriptions, and possibly even names. And he probably wasn't going to get much more out of the gibbering wreck before him. Time to cast his net elsewhere.

He turned away, hearing the barely-suppressed sigh of relief as he did so. Then an afterthought occurred to him. He turned back.

"You do know," he said, "that buying stolen Shinra products is a criminal offence."

The shopkeeper looked panicked again, but started nodded vigorously and gabbling. "Uh-huh, uh-huh, but ya know, man, it'll never happen again. Hand on heart - I'll swear it in front of President Shinra himself if I have to: I'll never do it again, never. _Never_." He was smiling, a pathetic, pleading smile, but Rude could see the desperation behind it, the fear clouding his eyes.

He raised the gun and stood over the grovelling figure. "That's right. You won't."

The scream drowned out the shot.

-

"Whoa! Easy there, buddy! Soon get ya patched up. Look, just in here, yo..."

The members of PHANTOM who had survived the skirmish had had their work cut out for them. Mirk had disappeared shortly after Samson, muttering darkly about needing a stiff drink and leaving Reno and Jonsey to round up the others. Four dead, including Shun, and Gregor was barely conscious. The rest of them were in bad shape, hobbling out of the Honeybee Inn in search of Potions, or booze, or both. Reno and Jonsey had to support Gregor out between them. The dead were left, just as they always were.

Now, half-dragging, half-carrying Gregor, Reno could feel his already sore spine complaining, and the perspiration stinging his eyes. Gregor was a big guy, as much fat as muscle, and Reno was surprised he and Jonsey had managed to get him as far as they had. The item shop was just a few yards away, though, and they eventually managed to haul him through the doorway.

"Hey!" Reno called as they entered, propping Gregor against the wall. "Yo, Marty! We still good for that discount you offered us last time?"

There was no one behind the counter, nor was there any answer from the back of the shop. Frowning, Reno tried again.

"Marty! You in? We're buyin' today, not sellin'..."

Silence. He and Jonsey exchanged a glance.

"Maybe he's out?"Jonsey suggested, shrugging.

Reno scoffed. "Out cold, more like. He's probably in the back, pissed out his face, yo." He nodded towards the back of the shop. "You go check. I'll look out the stuff we need."

Jonsey nodded, and headed behind the counter. Reno ambled over to the shelves of restoratives on display, but a loud "_Fuck!_" almost made him drop an armful of Hi-Potions.

"Jesus fuck, Jonsey! Wanna warn me next time you're gonna do that, yo?"

There was no reply. Reno looked over. "Jonsey?"

Jonsey's face was tight and pale. "I found Marty."

"Huh?" Ditching the Hi-Potions next to Gregor, Reno walked over and followed his friend's finger. Then it was his turn to curse.

Marty, the owner of the shop, was lying in a heap in the corner, a bullet-hole in his temple. Reno bent down and sluiced at the blood leaking from it. It was still warm, and hadn't had a proper chance to clot. Fuck, it must've happened just before they'd arrived.

"Who d'you think did it?" Jonsey asked.

Reno shrugged. "Fuck knows." This wasn't the first time he'd seen a shopkeeper gunned down in his own shop. It could just have been a punk who couldn't be bothered paying for a Potion.

Could have been. But something told him it wasn't.

Jonsey exhaled loudly. "Hark ain't gonna be happy about this." Marty had been one of their biggest buyers in Wall Market.

"I know," Reno said grimly. He knew he should just get up and leave - but something was bothering him. He turned the body over. The face was frozen in a look of utter terror. He didn't know why, but it made him shiver.

He heard the noise of the till opening, then Jonsey's voice: "Reno..."

"Yeah?"

"The till's still full."

Reno stood, shocked to see that Jonsey was right. The till hadn't been broken into. He looked around the shop, biting his bottom lip. Nothing seemed to be missing at all. He could see none of the usual signs of a struggle that accompanied a killing like this. From what he could see, the only thing that was out of place was the body behind the counter. It was almost as if there was no motive for it. Someone had just come in, shot Marty in the head, then walked out again.

It was totally unlike anything Reno was used to. It was cold. Deliberate. Precise.

And he had no idea why, but it scared him to death.

-

**Author's note:** Damn formatting problems. Oh, well. Third time lucky, eh?


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Guess who's back? And not before time. Sorry. This would've been up about a week ago if I hadn't lapsed into a sudden OMG I SUCK phase. As a result, this chapter will probably be subject to some serious revision. It didn't end where I wanted it to, it turned into a dreaded linking affair, I'm terrified I'm now dragging things out... you name it. But I told myself I wouldn't improve if I just sat and stared blankly at the computer screen, so I decided to upload and let you all have at it.

So, please, what I'm asking is, don't stroke my ego. If something's not up to par - and I know something isn't, I just haven't quite put my finger on it yet - tell me and I'll do what I can to fix it. Because you all rock, your feedback and encouragement have completely blown me away, and you deserve a good read. I promise things will get better in the next chapter.

Sorry for whining. I'll shut up now.

-

_Chapter 3_

Watching people was one of those quiet, private things that Rude did. Whether it was something he'd always done, or whether it was a by-product of his training, he wasn't sure, only that he'd only become aware of it after he'd become a Turk. After all, how many times had he sat in a bar like this one, in a dim corner like this one, watching the comings and goings of those around him in an effort to scope out a particular target or a source of trouble? Even if he was off-duty, it was a sort of pastime for him: watching, and wondering.

Wondering, for example, just what the hell he was going to do next. He could hardly go around interrogating and shooting every shopkeeper in Wall Market. One killing at this stage was acceptable, he reasoned, as it would help to throw the Mako thief off-balance, possibly even lead to smoking him out. But the last thing he wanted was to cause a sensation which would result in the thief slinking back into the shadows before Shinra had even had a crack at him.

So, here he was, sitting in a dim corner of one of Wall Market's most popular bars with a bottle of cheap beer in front of him, watching the patrons and trying to tune out the noise from the jukebox in the opposite corner. While the sign outside billed the establishment as one of Wall Market's finest, it wouldn't even have passed for third-rate above the plate. Still, a bar was a bar, and naturally a hotspot for gossip, so he figured he might be in with a chance. It was simply a case of being unobtrusive, and keeping his eyes and ears open.

Granted, he wasn't expecting a gangly, red-haired teenager to wander in and shout, "Hey, you in the corner! I'm your man!" But he had no doubt that if he asked the right questions, made the right insinuations, then at least one person here should be able to come up with something. He had already subtly questioned th bartender on his stance on the Mako rates in the slums, wondering whether this so-called fine establishment was managing to keep its profits up because it was keeping its electricity money down, but had only received a blank look and a shrug for his efforts. He'd treated that with a healthy dose of cynicism - any Midgar resident he'd ever spoken to, whether above the plate or below it, had an opinion on Shinra one way or the other - but he'd decided to let it go for now and concentrate his attention on the customers themselves. Something would come floating to the surface. There was definitely something to be said for alcohol's ability to loosen tongues.

"Want me to top up your drink, sir?" The tentative voice of a barmaid cut across his thoughts.

He shook his head, not even bothering to look up. He was good at making one drink last him all evening. The barmaid went on her way. He folded his arms on the table and cast another glance around the overcrowded room. That was another advantage of wearing sunglasses: they could guess, but no one could ever really tell what you were looking at.

He felt a vibration against his thigh. Delving into his trouser pocket, he brought out his PHS, flipped it open and looked at the caller ID. _Tseng_. He put the phone to his ear.

"Rude."

"_Rude, good day._" Tseng's voice was instantly businesslike. "_I don't want to interrupt your progress but your presence is required at the Honeybee Inn. We've just received a message from Don Corneo_."

That made him sit up. "Related to the case?"

"_Actually, no. Apparently there has been some sort of altercation at the Inn. Veld has ordered myself and some of the others to investigate, and I would like you there, too, to bolster our numbers. Would that be too much of an inconvenience to you at the moment?_"

Hardly.

"No. I'm currently positioned in Wall Market myself."

"_Good. Rendezvous outside the Honeybee Inn in thirty minutes. Thank you, Rude_."

"Sir."

He ended the call and slipped the PHS back in his pocket. So much for sitting and observing. He finished his drink and glanced around again, saw nothing particularly suspicious, stood, then made his way to the door.

-

"Fuck, man, this has gotta be the worst day of my life _ever_." Jonsey kicked at a rusty can, hands shoved miserably in his pockets.

"No kiddin'," Reno agreed.

They had left Marty's shop in a hurry, after reviving Gregor and swiping the money from the till. Reno hadn't been able to shake off the feeling of deep unease that gnawed at him, but hadn't said anything to Jonsey or Gregor about it. Not that he'd had the opportunity to, anyway, for as soon as he was able to walk by himself, Gregor had stalked away on his own, saying he'd catch them later. Jonsey, meanwhile, had put Marty's death on the back-burner and had returned to fuming over VENDETTA, listing the gruesome deaths he'd like each and every member to suffer. Truth be told, Reno had almost forgotten about the fight, even though it hadn't happened more than two hours before. His mind was preoccupied on just one question:

_What the hell went down in Marty's shop?_

The killing didn't seem like the result of a regular spat. It was too... professional. An assassin, then? It wasn't impossible: assassins were as rife as whores in the slums, everyone knew that. The only problem was, Marty hadn't had any enemies that Reno knew of - and he _would've_ known. The guy hadn't been involved with any gangs, or he and Jonsey would've found out. Fuck, _they_ were the nearest things he'd had to gang connections.

_Oh, God_.

"Reno?" Jonsey's voice. "Hey, Reno, someone just cast a Stop spell on ya?"

He returned to reality with a nasty jerk. He hadn't even realised he'd stopped walking. He felt stunned, and shaken.

What if _that_ was why Marty had been killed? What if someone had found out about his dealings with PHANTOM?

Someone meaning VENDETTA?

He'd heard from Hark once that VENDETTA had originated in Sector Six. Was that it? He'd seen members of the gang talking with Kotch and Skotch, Don Corneo's lackeys, before. Oh, fuck, _was_ that it? Was Corneo worried that his influence over Wall Market might be slipping, and hired out thugs from one of the sector's "native" gangs to fix the problem?

_Fuck._

"You sure you're okay, buddy?"

Reno growled. "I think I need a drink, yo."

"I know how y'feel, mate," Jonsey replied. He drew his hand from his pocket and jangled some change. "Shall we?"

Reno made sure there was a grin fixed securely on his face before answering. "Yeah, why the hell not? We got some petty cash burning holes in our pockets. Let's go get wasted. We've earned it, yo."

"I hear that."

They made a beeline for the booze joint opposite. It was one of the most popular in Wall Market, or so Clayton, the owner, said, and was frequented by all kinds of creeps. That was why the lights were always down, Reno thought, so you didn't have to look at them. Regardless, it was the joint he and Jonsey drank at every time they were in Sector Six and Clayton knew them well, being another one of their buyers. Which meant they could count on getting cheap drinks even cheaper there. And after the day he'd had, that was just the sort of thing Reno needed.

He led the way inside, pushing open the door and fighting his way through the strings of tacky plastic beads that had been hung up in a failed attempt to make the place look classy. At once, the stink of booze, cigarettes and other, less legal substances assaulted his nose, and he had to swat his way through the haze of smoke and fumes to reach the bar. On the way, he received a number of greetings and conspiratorial smirks from customers who were also Mako buyers, but he was in no mood to return any of them.

He elbowed his way through the throng propping the bar up and slammed a handful of gil on the counter. "Strongest thing you got, Clay." Then, an afterthought: "And make it a large one, yo."

The barkeep raised an eyebrow as he set a bottle down in front of him. "Rough day?"

"Can't get any worse," he grunted.

A slight laugh. "Yeah, I heard all about your little run-in at the Honeybee. They've been talking 'bout nothing else." He waved his hand towards the punters. "PHANTOM and VENDETTA, eh?"

Jonsey groaned loudly in reply. Reno only scowled and downed a mouthful of whatever Clayton had given him. He'd asked for the strongest drink they had and it looked like he'd gotten it. Seemed to be a mixture of cat piss and nitric acid. Still, the important thing was whether or not it sent him on a nice, long trip to oblivion, and he had the feeling he'd be there before too long.

"Word spreads like the flu round here, yo," he remarked humourlessly.

Clayton nodded mildly, pushing his thinning black hair out his eyes with a practised flick. Everything about the guy seemed mild, Reno thought, mild and casual, though he knew that in actuality, the barman was much tougher, and much more wily, than he looked. That was why Hark had decided to try selling Mako to him: he was customer who could be trusted to keep his trap shut.

Unease curled in Reno's belly. Hark had thought that about Marty, too.

A brief image of the shopkeeper, dead and crumpled behind his own counter, burned its way through his mind. Shaking his head to get rid of it, he took another drink. He looked up at Clayton's slightly-smiling face, and wondered whether or not he should warn him. Forewarned was forearmed and all that. But what if Clayton decided to back out? They'd lose another buyer, and he still didn't _really_ know that Marty's death was because of his dealings with PHANTOM.

There was still a chance it wasn't. A chance.

"Result?"

Reno looked up, blinking. It took a second before the question sank in. "Hm? Oh, y'mean the fight, yo? We... we won... I guess." He saw Clayton open his mouth again and waved his hand quickly. "Look, man, mind if I don't talk about it? My head's buzzin' today, yo..."

The bartender raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You feelin' okay, kid? You usually crow about who you've beaten on." He leaned in to murmur, "After all, who wouldn't crow 'bout makin' Flint Malone bite dust? Gotta hand it to ya, Reno, you're good."

Reno scowled. He'd come in to drink and forget about everything that had happened. Not to have to sit and talk about it.

"Like I said," he said, "my head's buzzin'. Talk about something else, will ya?"

"What?"

"The fuck should I know?" He made an impatient gesture. "How's life? How many pints've you pulled today? What in fuck's name is that shit on the jukebox? Anythin', yo."

Anything to take his mind off VENDETTA. Or PHANTOM, for that matter.

Clayton grinned, looking between Reno and Jonsey. "Wow, you boys really _ain't_ had a good day."

Reno took another long drink to emphasise that point.

"Well, then." The barkeep tilted his head, tapping his chin with one finger, miming pensiveness. Then he snapped his fingers. "Aha! Got it. You'll like this, Reno."

Reno only quirked an eyebrow. "Try me, yo."

"Okay, then. Get this. Before you two came in, just a while ago, there was a Turk in here."

Reno looked up, surprised. "What? A _Turk_-Turk, yo? A Shinra suit?"

"What other kinda Turk d'you get?" Clayton chuckled. "Told ya you'd like it."

Jonsey gave a short bark of laughter. "What've you done now, Clay?" he teased, prodding the barman's arm.

Clayton put on a voice of mock-innocence. "Me? I ain't done a thing! He just came in for a drink -" his voice dropped - "_after_ asking me my opinion on the rise in Mako rates."

Reno found himself laughing, too, though he didn't even know why. "Friendly guy, yo?"

"Hardly," Clayton snorted. "Real quiet-like, y'know? Weird. Then again," he shrugged, "I've never met a Turk that wasn't."

"What was he like?" Reno asked eagerly. Yeah. This was good. Turks were good to talk about. They wore flashy suits, they looked cool, they kicked serious ass - they'd help take his mind off his godawful day.

Clayton shrugged. "Big guy. Quiet. Serious muscles - a real don't-fuck-about-with-me vibe, y'know, though he was polite enough. Interested in Mako prices."

"He would be," Jonsey said derisively. "They're probably beginning to take 'em out his nice, cushy salary."

Reno laughed. "Well, Clay," he said cheerfully, "least _you_ won't have to worry 'bout Mako rates, not when we're..." - his heart skipped a beat - "when we're... sellin' it to ya... cheap - oh, _shit!_"

The realisation slammed into him like a two-ton weight. He was on his feet before he knew it, nearly sending his drink flying.

"The fuck's the matter with you today, Reno?" Jonsey demanded. "You're jumpy as a goddamn chocobo on speed! You were like that in the shop, too."

He couldn't believe Jonsey couldn't see it. "Don't you get it, yo? There's a goddamn _Turk_ wandering around out there!" He tried to lower his voice, but for some reason his mouth seemed to have been disconnected from his brain. "A goddamn Turk askin' questions about Mako."

Comprehension dawned on Jonsey's face. Comprehension and panic. He paled. "Us!"

Reno groaned loudly into his hands. "Oh, fuck! I knew it! I fuckin' _knew_ it, yo! Those posters in Sector Three... the Shinra've got the goddamn Turks after us!"

So much for his day not being able to get any worse. If he was right, Corneo had just got VENDETTA to take out their buyers - and now the fucking Turks were on the warpath. This sort of thing didn't happen even in his worst, drunken nightmares.

He looked up at Clayton wildly. "What happened to him? Where'd he go?"

Clayton shrugged, visibly alarmed by his reaction. "Dunno. He just sat in the corner for an hour or so, then he got a call on his PHS and left without a word."

"How long ago?" Reno could feel himself shifting his weight from foot to foot in anxiety.

A Turk, a fucking _Turk_...

"Not long. Practically just before you two came in." Clayton's tone suggested he was trying to reassure him, but he was barely registered it.

"No word? He didn't speak to anyone?"

"Nope."

Reno cursed under his breath. Jonsey got to his feet.

"We better get the hell outta here, Reno," he said quietly. "Don't want to be in Sector Six if there's Turks about. We should get back to Hark and -"

But Reno was shaking his head. "No. No, we gotta find out what the Turk's about first, yo. If he..." He swallowed. With difficulty. His throat was dry. Why was his throat so fucking dry? "If he really _is_ after us. Who knows? It's not like we're the only punks in the slums. Could be... could be someone else, yo."

He tried to grin, but the muscles in his mouth just wouldn't do it.

"Well... where d'we start?" Jonsey asked.

Reno was just about to answer - _"I dunno"_ - when a large man cut his way to the front of the bar and said loudly, "Yo, Clay, you'll never believe this! You heard about that fight at the Honeybee today, yeah? Well, Corneo's only gone and called the Turks in."

The bar started buzzing with conversation. Reno and Jonsey just stared at each other.

_Turks... at the Honeybee?_ Reno's mind was working in overdrive. _Why're the Turks bothering with that fight? Why would they care? Gang fights are ten a gil. Why would they...?_

_The Honeybee..._

"Oh, shit!"

"What now?"

He groaned again. "Cassie... I told her 'bout the theatre up in Sector Three. If the Turks get wind of _that_ while they're there, yo... they'll know... they'll - _fuck!_"

Without even waiting for Jonsey, he tore out of the bar.

-

Rude made straight for the Honeybee Inn. Tseng would want him to be there as soon as possible. Don Corneo was one of Shinra's most influential puppets in the slums, so it was in the company's interest to keep him sweet, even if that meant sending the odd Turk down whenever he contacted Veld with some pathetic quibble about money or manpower.

He reached the Honeybee Inn soon enough, managing to mask the look of distaste that always threatened to make its way onto his face whenever he saw the building. The lurid pink lights, the gaudy signs, the crowds of sweaty-palmed, testosterone-poisoned johns milling about outside... the Honeybee Inn was far from the top of his list of favourite spots in Midgar.

Tseng and the other Turks were already there. He saw the car as soon as he rounded the corner. The crowd had already dispersed considerably, as crowds tended to do when the Turks arrived somewhere. The doors to the building were wide open, two Turks - Leighton and Elizabeth - standing guard at either side. Tseng was standing by the car, speaking to the portly doorman, who was wringing his flabby hands in vexation. As he came closer, he saw Tseng nod, his expression neutral, then send the man on his way.

As soon as he was close enough, Tseng greeted him. "Ah, Rude, thank you. Both Veld and myself greatly appreciate this, especially considering how short-notice the request was."

"It was no trouble, sir," he replied dutifully. He was, after all, hardly on the edge of a breakthrough with his own assignment.

A touch of concern crossed Tseng's brow. "I take it progress has been minimal."

He nodded reluctantly.

"I suppose it should be expected," Tseng said evenly. "At this early stage, at least. Rest assured, Rude, both Veld and I have full faith in you."

"Thank you, sir." He turned to the Honeybee Inn. "What's the situation?"

Tseng followed his gaze towards the entrance of the building, where a glimpse of the brightly-coloured foyer was visible. Turning his attention back to Rude, he said, "Veld received a call today from Don Corneo. Apparently, members of two local gangs met each other in the foyer and - well, you can guess what happened next."

"Serious?"

"We didn't believe so at first, but as soon as we got down here we realised it was more significant that we originally thought. Nine gang members dead in total, as well as one of the resident prostitutes and a number of onlookers. An unfortunate incident, to be sure, but hardly one that we would really bother pursuing under normal circumstances."

"Normal circumstances?" What made this cirumstance abnormal?

"Yes. Normally, as you know, it's for us to pour the oil on troubled waters, assure Corneo that he has Shinra's full condolences and support and leave it at that. But when we reached the scene, we recognised one of the corpses immediately: Sander 'Flint' Malone. I trust you'll recognise that name."

Rude nodded, not even trying to stop his eyebrows raising. He could hear the subtle awe in Tseng's voice. Flint Malone. Yes, he had heard that name, and also met the man to whom it belonged, more than once. He had a substantial file in the Turks' database, having been involved in many... unsavoury incidents: drug-dealing, the murder of fairly prominent Shinra beneficiaries, criminal damage to Shinra property, as well as others that Rude couldn't be bothered remembering. But Malone had been pretty quiet for the last couple of years, keeping his head beneath the plate and sticking to the slums where he belonged, but Rude had still heard the name mentioned with a kind of dread-filled awe, and apparently in Sector Six Malone was considered as untouchable as Don Corneo himself.

And he had been killed in a gang fight in a brothel. It was so ironically ordinary.

"Do we know who the killer is?"

Tseng shook his head. "So far, no witnesses have been particularly forthcoming. I suppose we must presume it was a member of the opposing gang."

That posed a problem. "Do we even know which gang Malone was involved with, sir?"

"To be honest, Rude, I've lost track. A crack in the fortress, you might say, but he had almost completely disappeared off our radar. But imagine it." His dark eyes held a strange gleam, the only sure sign when Tseng was particularly interested or enthusiastic. "Killed in a brawl, Rude. When we knew him, the residents of this sector talked about him with more reverence than they did the President, and his prowess in battle was by no means mediocre. Whoever killed him must have been just as talented, if not more so."

Rude considered that. Certainly, getting the better of Flint Malone was no mean feat. Raw talent like that was rare. Even the great Sephiroth was only where he was because of rigorous training and Mako showering. Rude himself had spent months in the Shinra Military Training Academy before being offered a place in the Turks.

"If that talent could be supervised," he said slowly, "honed..."

Tseng nodded, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Let's just say that Veld has become very interested in this incident."

Rude was about to reply, when his senses suddenly alerted him to another presence, somewhere in the clutter of scrap metal opposite the brothel.

They were being watched.

-

"Reno!" Jonsey's voice, behind him. "Where're you going - wait up - _Reno!_"

At the sound of his voice, he forced himself to stop and wait, though his heart was hammering in his chest and panic had tightened in his throat. Jonsey's pace slowed as if he was intending to stop, but Reno shook his head.

"C'mon - can't stop, yo..."

A split second later, they were running again, Reno well in front, Jonsey lagging behind, taking every short-cut they knew. Reno barely noticed: he was too preoccupied with the thoughts slamming through his head. Thoughts of the Turks in the Honeybee Inn, sniffing around, asking questions. If one of them questioned Cassie, if she brought up their exchange about the theatre...

_Why would she?_ a voice in the back of his mind reasoned. _They're not there about Mako - they're there about the fight. Just stay the hell out the way._

But what if someone described him? The Shinra had his picture. The goons weren't _that_ stupid that they couldn't put two and two together.

_ohGodohGodohGodohGod_... The same words pounded in his head each time his boots pounded on the tarmac.

He reached the corner that turned towards the Honeybee Inn before skidding to a halt. Probably not the best time to take the front entrance. He couldn't risk the Turks seeing him. Luckily, the area opposite the Honeybee was a dumping ground for old scrap metal. People complained about it time and time again, but they still found it useful when they needed some car parts or metal for patching up roofs or walls. There'd be enough cover in there somewhere to watch the goings-on without being seen.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jonsey demanded behind him.

He shrugged off the question and started clambering through the maze of rust and twisted metal, past corrugated iron, old shop signs, ancient weapons, through the bodies of old cars with relative ease. When he was nine, he'd slept in a similar junk heap for about five months, so he knew which ways to go, which ways to twist to avoid shrapnel, which bits and pieces could be used as shelter and which could be used as weapons. Having a small, bendy body was a plus, too. He could hear Jonsey behind him, following his lead but having more trouble because of his larger build.

He found an old rustbucket lying directly, and conveniently, opposite the entrance to the Honeybee. He was surprised for a moment that none of Wall Market's grease monkeys had picked it up yet, but then he decided he didn't really care. Gesturing to Jonsey, he got down on his haunches and peered through the empty windows.

There they were. The signature black car that he'd seen more than once above the plate, and a handful of figures in the easily-recognisable, dark-blue suits. Some were moving in and out of the building industriously, while two - a man and a woman - stood guard on either side of the open doors.

Jonsey shuffled a bit closer to the car. "Shit, they _are_ here," he muttered.

Was it his imagination, or did Jonsey sound _worried_?

The two Turks on guard were looking around with raised chins and eyes that felt all-seeing, even at this distance. Reno instinctively got down as low as he could and continued to watch with a kind of morbid fascination. It was generally agreed in the slums that if the Turks turned up, you made yourself busy, and you sure as hell didn't watch them. You didn't want them to think you were taking too much interest in their affairs. That was basically asking to end up in a gutter with a bullet in the back of your neck.

So he'd heard, anyway. But it didn't stop him watching. The Turks fascinated him. Always had. No matter what folks like Hark or the dearly departed Flint Malone thought, those suits were the ones who _really_ ruled the slums. They knew them better than the people who lived there. They were the ones who kicked ass and looked cool while they were doing it. They were the ones who stalked the shadows until they became a part of them. They were hypnotic - hypnotically deadly, and Reno just couldn't tear his damn eyes away.

One of the Turks, a tall Wutaian man with black hair tied back into a severe ponytail, was standing at the car, speaking to the piggy doorman, authority written into his straight back and stern mouth. He carried himself with quiet dignity, still and enigmatic as one of those statues from Wutai that Reno had seen in a picture once. He even had one of those dots in the middle of his forehead.

He watched as Dot-man dismissed the doorman. Just a moment later, another Turk came on the scene, from the main pathway that Reno had only just remembered to forgo. He was glad he had. He wouldn't want to be cornered by _this_ guy. He was bigger than Dot-man: not just taller, but broader, too, and Reno seriously doubted any of it was fat. This suspicion was backed up not only by the leather fighting gloves the Turk wore, but also by the way he walked. Long strides, precise and just heavy enough, combining obvious strength with a kind of fluid elegance. This guy knew his shit. His head was bald, shaven most likely, as he didn't look that much older than Reno himself, his dark skin unmarred by wrinkles or scars. His face was clean-cut, the contours so hard they looked chiselled, and even more unreadable than the Wutaian man's, his expression further hidden by his dark sunglasses.

It was impossible not to be mesmerised.

"Fuck," Jonsey whispered beside him. "I wouldn't wanna get on _his_ bad side."

Reno was only half-listening. He watched as Shades made his way over to Dot-man and they started talking. The bald Turk spoke sparingly, the Wutaian man making most of the running. Reno strained to hear the words but couldn't. There was the odd gesture, a grim look from Dot-man, a slow nod from Shades, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at Dot-man's lips...

_What're they talking about?_ Impatience bit him. He wanted to get closer, to actually _hear_ something - but any closer and he'd be out in the open. The most he could do was lean further into the empty body of the car.

That's when the bald Turk's body language suddenly changed. His spine stiffened, as if he'd just felt a chill. His mouth moved briefly. His dark-haired companion's high forehead furrowed, and -

Did he just imagine that, or did the man's eyes flicker over in their direction?

Jonsey was crawling backwards on his hands and feet. "Reno, man, I don't think we should outstay our welcome..."

But Reno didn't dare take his eyes away from the two Turks. They were talking again, mouths moving quickly, urgently. The Wutaian Turk gestured to the woman who was guarding the door and she went over to him. He spoke briefly to her. Her eyes slid over to their hiding place.

Reno's blood froze. In fact, his whole body froze. Logic and Jonsey were telling him to move, to run, to get the hell away - but he couldn't. His legs refused to move. He was completely frozen to the spot. Helpless, he could only look up.

The bald Turk and the girl were coming towards him.


	5. Chapter 4

Author's note: I'm back! A belated Happy New Year to everyone! (hangs head) I know, to those of you who reviewed, I promised a speedy update. I did actually get most of this chapter written quickly, but then I got _Kingdom Hearts II_ for Christmas and it _ate_ my spare time. But somehow I managed to put down the controller and finish this off. And it's a long 'un.

Yeah, I tried to upload this last night, but my computer decided to play up and then I ended up trying to edit its screw-ups and instead deleting the entire chapter. (headdesk) Being the patient and persistent person I am, I said, "Sod this, I'm going to bed." So... second time lucky.

There is one last thing I should mention: the character Elizabeth in this chapter is based on the character "Gun (female)", one of the _Before Crisis_ Turks. A couple of BC Turks will turn up in this fic, and I'm doing my best to capture their personalities based on the impressions I get from various character profiles and from _Last Order_. Apologies in advance for any inconsistencies; it's the best I can do at the moment.

Right, now that you're thoroughly sick of me going on, let's put that cliffhanger of doom out of its misery.

-

_Chapter 4_

"Reno!"

They were close now, so close he could see the whites of the female Turk's eyes, count the number of piercings in the bald Turk's left ear.

And his body still refused to move.

"_Reno!_" Suddenly, he felt a hand seize a fistful of his jacket and pull him back. He hit the ground hard, grazing his palms.

He looked up, through the empty windows of the car. They must have seen the movement; they were now coming straight towards him. If they had been unsure of his location, they definitely weren't now.

"Reno, _c'mon_!" Jonsey's voice was now a snarl. "Move it! Your Turk fetish ain't worth my life."

The female Turk pulled a handgun from its holster. A green materia orb glowed warningly in its slot.

The trance finally broke. Reality hit him hard, urgency hot on its heels. He had to get the hell out of here. But _how_? How, when he was surrounded on three sides by a maze of twisted metal, and faced with two Turks on the other?

A head-on charge through them was a no-no. Even he wasn't stupid enough to try that.

Shades Turk grasped the handle of the car door at his side. It must have been crusted shut with months of rust, but it flew open effortlessly. Reno's mouth fell open, stunned at the Turk's sheer strength.

Forcing his brain back into gear, he grabbed the nearest thing he could put between himself and Shades - the battered remains of something, he didn't have time to look and see what - and shoved it against the doorless space on his side - just as Shades leaned into the car. He heard a grunt of surprise from the other side, and threw his weight against the barricade as the Turk attempted to move it, holding it there, back pressed up against it, heels digging into the ground, teeth gritted.

_C'mon... don't you dare move. Don't you_ dare.

Trying to ignore the pounding of Shades' much heavier body against the barricade, Reno scanned the debris in front of him for some sort of escape route. A flicker of movement somewhere ahead told him that Jonsey was already making his own bid for freedom. He grimaced after the retreating form.

_Thanks for the help, asshole._

_Pound._ The barricade shifted. Reno bit down on his bottom lip, pressing back harder. Another one of those would send him flying. Only question was: would he have enough time to dart for the tighter areas of the scrap when Shades finally broke through?

"Come out!" A female voice, lower-pitched than most, with a tone that brooked no nonsense. "You'll only make it worse for yourself if you resist. Surrender and we'll be lenient."

_Yeah, and while I'm at it, why don't I walk into a den of Cuahls with a sign saying "All you can eat!" round my neck?_

As soon as the sarcastic quip was out of his head, he forced himself to focus. He had to time this perfectly.

_Two. One _-

Shades threw his weight against the barricade. It was flung wide. In the same instant, Reno sprang towards a gap, one he'd be able to fit through, but one which couldn't accommodate Shades' bulk. Flattening himself on his belly, he scrambled into the narrow space.

A fist closed round his ankle and pulled.

_No way. No fucking way._

He jerked his leg and kicked. Behind him, he heard a grunt of pain and the sound of breaking glass. The hold on his ankle gave way.

Not wasting a second, he started crawling through the scrap heap, belly to the ground, head down, dragging himself along on his elbows. Sharp edges snagged at his jacket, clutching at his sleeves as if trying to pull him back. Frustrated, he wrenched his clothes off the barbed edges and tried to go faster. He had no idea where the scrap heap opened up, but decided not to worry about it, concentrating on putting as much distance between him and the Turks as fast as possible. If they were coming after him, he couldn't hear it. Though maybe that was because of the blood pounding in his ears.

An opening appeared in front of him. Wriggling free of the barbed wire clawing at his jeans, he shot towards it. He emerged onto a tiny patch of bare concrete, concealed by the sheer size of the scrap pile. A brick wall rose up in front of him.

"Hey, up here!"

He looked up. Jonsey was on the roof, leaning over the edge to wave. He started climbing, scaling the wall as fast as he could, though adrenaline and urgency were making him careless. His feet slipped, his hands scrabbled and once, he thought he was going to fall, but somehow he managed to haul himself onto the roof, where Jonsey was waiting for him.

"Whew!" he breathed. "That was close. Thought you were never gonna move."

Reno glared at him. "Thanks for waiting, yo."

Jonsey only shrugged. "Every man for himself."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He got to his feet, testing his weight gingerly on the corrugated iron roof. Still breathing hard, he asked, "Think we shook 'em off?"

Jonsey nodded over his shoulder. He turned. The warped, jagged mess of the scrap pile stretched out beneath him. Beyond that, not far enough away, he could see the Honeybee. And in front of the Honeybee he could make out the Turks. Shades and the blonde woman. And they were looking up at him and Jonsey.

He swallowed. He could barely make out their faces, but he could feel their hostility, even from this distance.

For a few seconds, they made no move, only watched him, while he made no move, watching them back. Then they started running. He followed them with his eyes, confused. Where were they going? They were heading in the opposite direction, along the path that took them to the main streets of Wall Market.

His insides clenched. _Oh, fuck_.

A quick look told him that the building he and Jonsey were standing on was on one of those main streets. Stalls were pressed up against the walls mere feet beneath him. The scrap heap made it impossible to reach from the Honeybee - but from the streets they were sitting ducks.

The Turks appeared on the street. Heading in their direction. Heading very _fast_ in their direction.

He took a step back.

"We're fucked," Jonsey groaned.

Reno didn't dare breathe. "Move," he said. "_Now_."

-

Rude backed out of the wreck of the car. Pain throbbed in one temple, and one of the lenses in his glasses was shattered, courtesy of the sole of a boot. His mind raged, racing through every curse word he knew and every torture device he could think up.

"Did you get him, Rude?" Elizabeth asked behind him.

He straightened up, pulling a spare pair of glasses from his breast pocket and replacing the broken ones, letting his silence speak for itself.

"What happened?" asked Tseng.

"There was someone watching us, sir," Elizabeth replied at once. "Rude tried to apprehend them, but they got away."

Rude looked towards the scrap pile, vexed. The kid had managed to slip through that junk like an adder through grass. But the leg he had latched onto had been almost unbelievably thin, and he doubted his own, larger build would be able to make its way between the metal with the same ease.

His fists clenched very slightly. It was a blow to his pride, but he had to admit it: the kid had gotten clean away.

He saw red. Literally. A thin, red-haired figure was scaling the wall just beyond the scrap pile, with all the speed and agility of a spider.

His mind leapt to the photograph in his pocket.

"There's another one," Elizabeth said suddenly. Rude followed her gaze to the roof of the building, where another figure waited.

"What do you want us to do, sir?" Elizabeth asked Tseng.

Rude watched the red-haired figure as he pulled himself onto the roof and stood. There was an exchange with his companion, then he turned back - looking towards them. The figure was too far away for him to see his face, but Rude imagined - no, he knew - that the redhead was watching him intently.

"The building looks like it is accessible from the main street," he heard Tseng say. "It would be easier to catch them that way than even trying to navigate the scrap heap."

Elizabeth cocked her gun grimly. "Understood, sir."

"Good. Move out, Turks."

Rude spared the figure on the roof only one more glance before leading the way towards Wall Market. With Elizabeth following, he raced round the corner and out onto the shop-lined, bustling street.

There. A high brick wall concealed the scrap pile, but just beyond that, he saw the building. And on the roof...

"There they are."

Then, suddenly, the two figures starting running, the red-haired one in front.

_All right, if that's how you want to play it._

"We should take one each," he said.

"I'll cover the dark-haired one," Elizabeth replied.

_Good_. That left the redhead to him. And he had the feeling he'd be apprehending him for more than loitering. It was his target. He knew it.

They raced alongside the wall, just below their quarries, just far enough away from the wall to keep them in sight. People threw themselves out the way, diving in all directions. Shouts and curses followed them, but Rude barely noticed. He kept his attention trained on his target.

_God, he's fast_.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw the end of the building come into sight. He felt a brief flash of triumph.

_Nowhere for you to run now_.

The kid had obviously realised the same thing. Without even a moment's hesitation, he jumped. Despite the height of the building, he hit the ground running and tore off down a side street. His companion jumped after him. Unlike the redhead, he took a second to recover, but even he was taking off before Rude and Elizabeth could get close.

Willing himself to go faster, Rude turned the corner and gave chase up the narrow street. Well in front, he saw the redhead and his crony dive into the crowd, trying to disappear into the crush of bodies.

_No_, he thought, as the scarlet head disappeared from sight. _No, you're not getting away as easily as that_.

He pushed through the crowd, trying to catch sight of the kid again, but he could barely move. The street was too narrow and the crowd was packed in too tightly. Even the warning shot from Elizabeth couldn't help them.

And then, suddenly, the street was wider, the crowd less crushed. The redhead and his crony were now barely a hundred yards in front of him, and the gap was closing.

It was then he realised where they were. A vast, bustling sprawl of tents and wooden lean-tos, neon lights and brightly-daubed signs. They were near the exit to Wall Market.

He gritted his teeth behind tightly-clamped lips. _No!_ He couldn't let them escape from Sector Six. If they did, they would be home-free. Trying to pursue them through the slums was unthinkable.

But at the speed those two were going at, it was unlikely he and Elizabeth would be able to catch up before they reached the gates. There was a chance the neglected highway and its many pitfalls would hinder their targets long enough for them to catch up - but it was a very scant chance. No, they'd have to catch them before they could get out of Wall Market.

He glanced around, looking for an idea - and found one. This part of Wall Market was like a maze, with countless streets weaving between the buildings. All of which eventually joined with the main road out of Wall Market.

He gestured to Elizabeth, and they ducked down another side path, weaving their way between the tents, practically tripping over the people who were using the shadows as cover for their own nefarious purposes. Through gaps between the buildings, Rude occasionally caught sight of a bright flash of red whipping past. He quickened his pace, cutting swiftly between the buildings with Elizabeth just behind him. Within a matter of minutes, the gates came into view.

He stopped, concealed in the shadows between two huts. Elizabeth tried to slip past, but he put a restraining hand in front of her and shook his head. They couldn't risk their targets seeing them before they'd reached the gates themselves, then deciding to run off in another direction. Elizabeth nodded in understanding before turning her eyes towards the gate, alert, gun at the ready.

Rude scanned the shifting crowds, searching for the denotive glimpse of red. If he'd timed this right, the kids would be running into view very soon.

_There._

He sighted the red hair first, then the kid pushed through the crowd and made straight for the gate, his taller, darker-haired friend just behind him. Rude and Elizabeth exchanged an affirmative look, then burst from the shadows.

They'd been seen. The two kids' heads jerked in their direction, and they plunged towards the gate. But they had no chance, Rude thought; they'd reach them at the same time as he and Elizabeth.

Then, the dark-haired kid attacked. Materia glowed green at his wrist and a ball of flame burst from his palm, straight towards the two of them. It was a Fire spell powered by adrenaline and blind instinct, and instead of aiming for one of them as it should have done, it careened wildly in their direction, not caring what it hit. There was no room in the narrow close to leap out of the way; instead, the two Turks were forced to throw themselves to the ground. Rude felt the burning air, the rush of heat on the back of his neck as the spell flew over him. As soon as it had passed, he hauled himself to his feet - just in time to see the two kids disappear through the gates.

Elizabeth was on her feet beside him in an instant, brushing dust primly from her suit jacket.

"Let's go."

And the chase began again. Rude felt his urgency skyrocket. They were out of Wall Market now, and their quarry now had a new head start on them. Only the playground and the ruined highway lay between them and escape. His determination steeled. They had to catch them now, before they reached the exit to Sector Six.

They reached the playground as the redhead cleared the swings and the dark-haired one reached them. He cast a glance over his shoulder and upon seeing them, peeled away to join the redhead. The muscles in Rude's legs burned in protest, but he forced himself to tear after them.

They were out of the playground now, out onto the highway. He barely had time to register the maze of old roadworks and concrete, the pits and gullies and sudden ledges and sheer walls, before he saw that the two kids had split up: the dark-haired one was just in front, trying to keep his balance on a rusting beam that stretched from one ledge to another, while his red-haired accomplice had jumped from the higher level in favour of the lower path.

Rude waited till Elizabeth had caught up with him long enough to say, "One each," before leaping into the pit. He landed hard, but on his feet, just as the telltale blaze of scarlet ducked out of sight. This part of the road had collapsed, boxed in by the crumbling sides of the roadway above it, and the only way out was through the short tunnel that had been hollowed through one of the raised sections. He gave chase through it, head ducked to avoid the low ceiling, emerged, caught sight of the youth disappearing round a corner and raced after him.

The pit twisted, swinging back in a ragged arc, birthing numerous, smaller crevices, all false starts and dead ends. But Rude knew the way. He was no stranger to the Sector Six highway, having pursued targets through it more times than he cared to count. This one had obviously chosen this route in an effort to confuse him, throw him off, but if he thought he could outfox a Turk, well, he was in for a shock. Rude could hear him just ahead: the rapid tattoo of running feet just round the next corner.

Always round the next corner.

He was reaching the point where he could barely hear the other's footsteps over the noise of his own heart pounding. His muscles were aching, his feet stinging, his lungs burning. A stitch ripped into his side with every breath, but he forced himself to be steel. No yielding. No failure.

He turned the next corner.

There. The kid was streaking across the cracked tarmac like a bolt of lightning, making straight for the makeshift ramp of metal and wood that led up to an old crane, and then to the last raised length of the highway - the last obstacle between him and the gateway to the Sector Five slums.

Rude pressed his lips together, as if to keep the impressive string of curses in his head _in_ his head. It was now or never. In one last-ditch effort, he mustered up a final burst of strength and speed from his fatigued muscles. His target was suddenly much closer.

Above him, somewhere, he heard the roar of another Fire spell. Two gunshots riposted. Elizabeth was evidently still in hot pursuit of her target. His own target's head jerked up in the direction of the noises, then he chanced a glance over his shoulder. Rude still couldn't make out his face properly, but he didn't need to. He could almost sense the panic.

Oh, yes. Close now. And the kid knew it, too. Even as every breath slashed at his lungs and his legs began to feel like lead, Rude couldn't help but feel a measure of grim satisfaction. Just another second - _just one more second_ - then he'd have him. His target. His objective. Mission accomplished.

But if he could feel his target's panic, his target seemed to have picked up on his triumph.

It seemed to happen in one movement. Almost in mid-step, the kid jumped. A hand shot out, seized a ledge and, with astounding agility, he swung his whole body up, and over.

Disbelief numbed Rude's mind - but he only allowed it an instant. Even as his target collected himself and got to his feet, Rude was racing up the ramp, ignoring it as it groaned beneath his feet. He slid through the crane and emerged on the high ground. The redhead saw him, and then they were off again, like a wolf after a stubborn hare.

Except the kid couldn't run forever. He was tiring - Rude could see it clearly, in his slumping shoulders and in the way he ran. It was an energy-conserving run, not a sprint. Still quick, still agile, but less so than before. That huge leap had taken something out of him. He wasn't going to last much longer.

Then the entrance to Sector Five came into sight. Upon seeing freedom, the kid pushed himself forwards with new-found strength. But then, his running feet caught one of the many cracks in the tarmac. He tripped and, even as Rude closed in on him, fell forwards, landing face-down on the ground.

-

_Ohshitfuck - NO!_

His chin hit the ground, hard, even as he threw out his hands to break his fall. Colours exploded behind his eyelids. Dazed, he blinked stupidly, still sprawled out on the broken ground.

Then he remembered where he was, what was happening. He heard Shades coming up behind him.

_Fuck! You just don't give up, do ya?_

And then: _Get up, Reno. Get the hell_ up.

Head still spinning from the fall, he staggered to his feet. He could hear the Turk behind him - too goddamn _close_ behind him. Time to go. He started running.

And stumbled.

His leg crumpled beneath him; a bolt of pain shot up from his ankle. He went sprawling forwards, down the last slope, landing in a pile.

_Oh, God, no. No!_

Running footsteps just behind him. A sudden stab of dismay. Adrenaline. Desperation. He hauled himself to his knees, felt the shadow fall over him. Instinct kicked in; his mind raced to the Lightning materia at his wrist. He twisted, firing one Bolt spell in Shades' direction. Not stopping to see whether it hit home or not, he jumped to his feet and sort of fell towards the Sector Five barrier.

He was through. He didn't have a goddamn clue where Jonsey was, but at that moment, he couldn't care less. He still had a Turk on his trail. Shades would be running through that barrier any second now. He had to find a hiding place, quick.

Cursing under his breath, Reno summoned up what strength there was left in his injured leg and lurched up the dim street at the edge of the first shanty town. He could feel his ankle protesting with every step, and realised he was clenching his teeth with pain.

_C'mon. Move, damn you. MOVE._

It was twisted. Badly twisted. In fact, he realised as another stab of pain had him hissing, it was just short of sprained. Anger rose like bile. He'd never, _never_ been injured on that highway before. He was fucking proud of that fact, too. He'd thought he'd learned how to navigate it years ago, but that Turk - that fucking Turk - the bastard had thrown him off.

He glanced over his shoulder - and instantly wished he hadn't. Shades was at the barrier, looking in his direction. And now he was running. Reno cursed again, steeled himself and dragged himself forwards.

There was no chance he'd get to HQ without being caught. Even the tenement where he stayed was too far away. He needed somewhere to take cover _now_.

Then he saw it - a narrow alleyway, a dark little crevice between two buildings - and threw himself down it, trying like all fuck to ignore his ankle. If he could throw off Shades just long enough to take a Potion, then that'd be good enough, and he could be on his way again. _Just long enough_. He just needed to outrun him _long enough_...

Old dustbins and black bin bags piled around him. A broken pipe leaked oily water. The smell would've made him sick if he hadn't slept in worse. That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was the gate at the end of the alley. The one that was padlocked shut.

_Fuck, no. No no no no no!_

He hurled himself at it, pulling desperately at the metal bars, at the padlock, at the chain, until his hands burned. Nothing. And it was too high: there was no chance he could climb over it, not with his leg the way it was.

He'd run straight into a fucking dead end.

_Who puts a fucking gate at the end of a back alley?_ He gave the bars another futile tug, then kicked at them in rage. But he kicked with his injured leg and collapsed, clutching it and groaning to himself as pain seared through his muscle. His eyes stung; a cry of pain rose in his throat and he bit down on his hand to keep it in.

A dead end. A dead fucking end.

There was no way in hell Shades couldn't have seen him duck down this alley, this stupid fucking dead-end alley. For the first time, he felt the real, terrible choke of defeat. In just a matter of minutes, the Turk'd turn down this alley and see him, injured and trapped, and that'd be it. He could barely stand, he didn't have the strength to use either his rod or materia, and - _stupid, stupid!_ - he'd not brought his gun with him. He had no fucking chance now.

_But I don't fucking_ want _to die._

The survival instinct was still there, then, flailing weakly like a dying thing. It was that, more than anything else, that had him crawling behind a clutter of bins, hunching up into a ball and clutching his injured leg. Through a crack between two bins he could see the place where the Turk would come through. He had no doubt he'd be found. Behind a bin was the most obvious fucking place to hide, and here it was the _only_ place to hide.

_Dead end_. The phrase had never sounded so goddamn _true_ before.

With his free hand, he reached down to his belt and found his rod. Pulling it out, he sprung the catch and it extended another foot. If he was going down, he was going down with a weapon in his hand, even if he couldn't swing it.

Crouching in one place, still biting back that cry of pain, he peered through the space between the bins. Watching, even though his vision was beginning to blur. Waiting, even though he was struggling to stay conscious.

A shadow fell across the opposite wall. Footsteps echoed in the narrow close. Slow. Deliberate. Final. Reno's heart suddenly sounded disastrously loud as it tried to thud its way out his ribcage. He sucked in a breath. Tensed.

The Turk stepped into sight. His heart now seemed to be beating in his throat. His lungs were suddenly tight, but he didn't dare exhale. Instead he made himself, _forced_ himself, to concentrate on watching the Turk as he stopped, just in the right place to prevent a mad bid for freedom back up in the alley from any direction, looking about, taking in the locked gate, the bins and bags. Reno continued to watch through the gap, wishing he could read the Turk's expression, wishing the guy wasn't wearing those damn glasses.

Shades raised one hand. Tightened his gloves. Reno's mind groaned. _This ain't good._

He realised the Turk was looking in his direction. He fought back a gulp and tried to slide back into the shadows. His hand tightened on the rod. This was it.

Then he saw it. Shades was standing in the puddle from the leaking pipe. The water stretched across the width of the alley, from the pipe to just a foot away from his own feet. In the state he was in, he wouldn't have the strength to cast a direct Bolt spell.

So he decided to take the indirect option.

The Turk took a step towards his hiding place. Focusing through his haze of pain and semi-consciousness, he threw out his hand. A bolt of lightning hit the water. All he saw was the flash of electric blue, then there was a bang - and the Turk was lying on the ground. Reno waited, heart pounding, disbelieving... but minutes seemed to pass and the Turk didn't move.

Tentatively, Reno stood, adjusting his weight on his good leg. Stepping from his hiding place, he kept his distance, reached out with the rod and prodded the prone form in the kidneys, jerking back instantly in case the Turk stirred. But he didn't. He was still breathing - Reno could see his broad chest rising and falling - but he was out for the count. Reno shook his head, surprised with himself. He'd known he hadn't had the strength left to cast anything life-threatening, but this was better than he'd intended. He'd wanted to cast something that could stun the Turk for a couple of minutes while he made his getaway; instead, he'd cast something that would probably keep the guy out of the game for at least an hour.

Relieved, he made for the way back out of the alley. But something made him turn back, and he realised he was almost... sorry that the chase had come to an end. Dire circumstances and Shinra suit aside, he'd almost begun to like the Turk. His strength, his silent lethality, his goddamn _persistence_... they just had to be admired. And he'd be a liar if he said he hadn't been impressed when he first saw the guy at the Honeybee.

"Sorry, man," he murmured to the unconscious form. "But - y'know - like they say: all good things must come to an end, yo." He grinned, guiltily, made a vague gesture, somewhere between a salute and a wave goodbye. "Well... see ya 'round, I guess."

With one last, lingering glance at the Turk, he turned and lurched out of the alleyway.

-

The first thing Rude was aware of when he came to was a splitting headache. Something like the square root of a hangover multiplied by having his skull smashed into a brick wall. He groaned, passed a hand over his eyes and waited for the world to stop swimming in and out of sight. He felt a clammy dampness against his back and wondered where he was.

Then he remembered. Standing in the alleyway, becoming aware of the other presence, readying himself for the inevitable struggle... then, a flash of white, a crash of thunder - and then feeling as if his nerves were being barbed by a thousand white-hot needles, before falling into blackness.

_Standard Bolt spell_. He stood, with difficulty, brushing himself off and checking himself for injury. He found nothing physically, but his pride had taken a severe beating today. He cursed himself silently, knowing he should have been more alert, should have expected his cornered target to lash out with a spell.

_Target_. This time, he groaned aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd had his target - the Mako thief, one of Shinra's most wanted - right where he'd wanted him and in one second, one foolish second of inattentiveness, he'd let him slip straight through his fingers.

He considered Tseng's what reaction would be when he returned with the bad news. The field leader would not be pleased - but what would happen to him? Would Veld deem him incapable of the mission and send someone else to take care of it? It wasn't something he particularly wanted to think about. Being entrusted with such an important assignment had been an honour, considering he'd barely been in the Turks for a year. It had been a real chance for him to prove his worth and, stupidly, he'd all but thrown it away.

And yet there was nothing he could do but return to Tseng, take full responsibility for his failure, and face the consequences.

He made a quick recce of the alleyway, wondering whether the thief had left behind anything of any significance, but he was still too groggy and too disheartened to make a decent assessment, and so turned to leave. He'd return tomorrow - or, if it came to it, he'd mention the place to whoever was assigned the mission in his place.

Heavy-hearted, he made his way back to Wall Market, choosing the easiest route across the highway. There was no sign of Elizabeth or her target, and he hoped she'd had more success that he had. His whole body was aching, from the exertion of the chase and then from the Bolt. He was ashamed, not just for letting a target get away so easily, but for being knocked unconscious by such a standard spell. He was a _Turk_; he was supposed to be able to shake minor things like that off.

After an age, he finally reached the Honeybee Inn. The car was still there, and Tseng was speaking to Elizabeth on the front step. As he drew nearer, Rude saw Elizabeth shaking her head, her mouth tight and her back straight, and Tseng's answering frown. He also noticed that Elizabeth's target, the youth with dark hair, was nowhere to be seen.

_Wonderful._ If Tseng wasn't already furious, he would be soon enough.

Tseng caught sight of him, and his frown deepened. "Don't tell me you lost the other one," was all he said.

Rude nodded stiffly. "My apologies, sir. I let my guard down."

"You've been gone almost two hours," Elizabeth said. It was her turn to frown, though more in concern than anger. "Were you attacked?"

"Yes," he said reluctantly. "I had him trapped and he lashed out unexpectedly with a Bolt spell."

"You were foolish," Tseng said at once, his voice clipped. "Cornered prey is the most dangerous kind. It's the first thing any hunter, any Turk, learns."

"Yes, sir," he replied quietly, trying to keep his expression neutral despite the shame threatening to flood into his face, the bristling feeling in his spine. To have to face Tseng empty-handed like this was bad enough, but to be lectured as if he were a rookie who had screwed up his first patrol...

"You do understand the severity of this, don't you?" Tseng continued, it seemed, to both he and Elizabeth. Looking at his superior, Rude could see that Tseng's jaw was tight, and his eyes were hard. "How am I supposed to tell Veld that two of my best Turks were unable to apprehend a couple of street urchins?"

"What happens now, sir?" Elizabeth's voice was flat.

Tseng stared back at her, his whole face hard as he considered her question. Eventually, he replied, "It's not for me to decide." He drew himself to his full height. "We've finished here, so we shall return to Headquarters. Rude, if you are in need of medical attention, we shall attend to that first."

"I'm not."

"Then I will report to Veld, as will both of you. He will decide what happens to you."

"Sir." Elizabeth nodded curtly, her mouth still set in a tight line, and made her way to the car, her back rigid. As Rude followed her, it struck him that she must be feeling as ashamed and humiliated as he was.

He looked past the tinted windows of the car, not really seeing anything but his own black mood. If, somehow, he earned Veld's pardon and was permitted to carry on with his mission, his determination to catch that red-haired menace had increased, not just for Shinra's sake, but his own, to repay his humiliation.

It was personal now.

-

It was growing dark when Reno finally reached Hark's place, way up the back of Sector Five, almost right beneath the main pillar. He'd been almost literally sneaking from shadow to shadow, casting glances behind him with every other step. It didn't matter that he'd be long gone before Shades even started to wake up; he hadn't survived this long by taking chances. But the Turk hadn't come after him, and he'd managed to reach PHANTOM's HQ unscathed.

But Jesus, he thought as he made his way up the stairs, what a day. He and the guys had only wanted to go out to Wall Market, stop off at the Honeybee and have a few drinks - but instead, they'd ended up in a fight with VENDETTA, lost Shun and Marty, and he and Jonsey had been chased halfway across the slums by two of Shinra's elite hitmen.

_Yeah_, he thought sourly. _A fuckin' brilliant day_.

Didn't help that his leg was still sore. As soon as he was a safe enough distance from the alley where he'd left the Turk, he'd cracked open a Potion. It had reduced the swelling, taken away most of the pain and restored him to full consciousness, but there was still a dull twinge every time he put his right foot down. Thank fuck it wasn't serious, though.

He'd just reached the first-floor landing when he almost bumped into Gregor.

"Watch where you're goin'!"

"Right back at ya, yo!"

"Reno?" Gregor had only just realised it was him. When he did, he laughed and shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Well, look, if it ain't the man of the hour!"

Shaking himself free of Gregor's grasp, he demanded, "The hell's that s'posed to mean?"

"You don't know?" Gregor frowned. "I thought you were goin' up to see Hark now."

"Nope." Reno shook his head, bewildered. "I was lookin' for Jonsey. You ain't seem him around, have ya?"

"Yeah, I seen him talkin' to Hark 'bout half an hour ago. Dunno where he went after that, though. But Hark's lookin' all over the place for ya, told everyone he saw to send you up if we saw ya."

Reno felt his heart sink. After the day he'd had, Hark was the last fucking person on the Planet he wanted to talk to.

"It's about VENDETTA, right?"

"What the hell else _would_ it be about?" Gregor chuckled. He seemed weirdly cheerful for someone who'd almost died just a couple of hours ago. "Face it, kid, you're the hero of the day. They're all talkin' 'bout how you offed Flint like that. Fuck, Samson's still pissed." Gregor leaned in, his voice lowered to a tone that was more complicit than cautious. "You know he's always boasted he'd be the one to take down Flint."

_So that's why he was mad at me_, Reno thought. It made sense now. Samson was considered to be PHANTOM's answer to Flint Malone; no doubt he'd want to be the one to take down his "rival". It must've been humiliating to lose out to a skinny little punk like himself.

He made a mental note to rub it in Samson's face next time he saw him.

"Right. Thanks, Gregor. See ya 'round."

"Back at ya, kid."

He watched Gregor make his way down the stairs, then headed along the landing, taking another flight of stairs all the way up to the third floor, where Hark's rooms were. He had no idea what the building had been before PHANTOM had taken it over, but it was all wide corridors and large rooms, all of them properly furnished. It wasn't exactly Don Corneo's mansion, but it was probably the next best thing. Hark had entire floor to himself, God-only-knew how many rooms for his own personal use, while most families in the slums were lucky if they had a whole flat to themselves. Hell, the bedsit Reno lived in was two tiny rooms between eight - _Seven_, he amended reluctantly - of them. He'd thought it good going the day he'd moved his pocketful of worldly possessions into it, but really, next to it, the headquarters was a goddamn palace.

He found the door to Hark's office and knocked sharply.

"Who is it?" Hark's voice barked from the other side.

"Reno."

"Come in."

Pushing the door open, he entered the office. It was an ostentatious, over-furnished room, what with its oak panelling, expensive glass light decorations and top-of-the-range furnishings. Hark was never a guy to let ill-gotten gil lie in his pocket for very long. The man himself was sitting behind the squat oak desk, kitted out in a designer, charcoal-grey suit that would have been expensive even above the plate, thinning hair rigidly combed as usual, his bony hand clasping a glass of something amber-coloured which was definitely not your average slum-brewed moonshine. Standing next to him was Samson. As soon as Reno entered the room, Hark's long, severely-featured face lit up expectantly and his eyes immediately found his own.

"Reno. At last. I was about to send out a search party for ya."

_Get to the point, fucker._

"I met Gregor on the first floor. Said you wanted to see me, yo."

Hark nodded. Setting down his glass, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and touching his fingertips together. "I've been hearing all about your adventures today, son."

_Uh-oh._ This wasn't good. Hark only called him "son" or something equally amiable when he was trying to win him over. Usually to do dirty work for him. Well, he could go fuck himself. After their spat yesterday morning, and after today, Reno had decided he was doing no one's donkey work and that he was going straight back to the flat and getting blitzed out his skull, since he hadn't had the chance earlier.

"Uh-huh..."

Hark stared at him, shocked. "What d'you mean 'uh-huh'? Fuck me, Reno, but you only eliminated one of my prime targets."

_Score!_ Reno thought as, out the corner of his eye, he saw Samson stiffen uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Despite himself, he let his gaze flicker to Samson's, and grinned when he saw the guy's already dark scowl grow even darker.

"Yeah." Hark gave a low chuckle. "God, I was beginnin' to have my doubts 'bout you, but you come through, kid, you always come through. Even outdoing Samson here -" Reno heard Samson make a sort of growling noise in his throat, which Hark either didn't hear or ignored - "just after that incident the other day with the Shinra."

Reno frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, well, I think I've made up for it, yo."

"You haven't half, Reno. You haven't half." Hark took a swig from his glass and grinned crookedly at him. "And I've even got a reward for ya. I think you'll like it."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm listenin'..."

"Well, I was talkin' to Jonsey earlier -"

"Yeah, I know, Gregor told me."

"- and he said you'd been chased outta Wall Market by a couple of Turks. Said they were investigatin' the fight at the Honeybee."

"Yeah..." He had to wonder just where the hell Hark was going with this.

"He also said you'd heard that one of them seems to be snoopin' round Wall Market, askin' about Mako." Hark's face was suddenly grim, all traces of a grin gone. "I can't have that, Reno. Those suits are like fucking bloodhounds. If they get any leads, any at all, they won't stop till they've ripped us open." He fixed Reno with his most intent look and repeated, "I can't have that."

"And whaddya want _me_ to do about it?" Reno demanded, folding his arms.

"Well, Reno, let's think about the bigger picture. VENDETTA have just lost one of their leading members. They'll be after our blood, too, you mark my words."

"Right..."

"I have a plan," Hark said, with a strange kind of gravity. "A plan to get both VENDETTA _and_ the Shinra suits off our backs at the same time. And what I want is for you to move all the pieces into place for me, Reno. I want you to be the... the puppeteer."

This time, Samson let loose an outraged cry. "But, Hark... I thought _I_ was s'posed to be takin' care of this mission! Not..." he gestured towards Reno, who feigned shock, and his face twisted with rage, "not _him_."

Hark gave a short, caustic laugh. "_You?_ You couldn't take down Malone after ten years. What makes you think you can handle a Turk? Maybe, if _you'd_ managed to get rid of him today, I would've said yes, but you didn't, and so Reno's doing it."

"But he's..." Samson was almost incoherent with rage. He glanced from Hark to Reno and back again, mouth working. "He's got no chance, Hark! Look at what happened today. Yeah, sure, we got rid of Malone, but we also lost a good number of our own men, just 'cause that little fucker couldn't keep his goddamn mouth shut."

Reno rolled his eyes. "Hey, Samson, this little fucker's still in the room, yo."

Samson ignored him and continued protesting to Hark. "What the hell makes you think he'll be able to do something this... this _big_?"

Hark's only reply was, "'Cause he got rid of Flint Malone for me; not you."

Samson's mouth snapped shut. His face was dark, his eyes burning with anger and shame. He nodded stiffly to Hark, turned, gave Reno a look of pure venom, then strode out of the office, slamming the door behind him so hard the glass in the windows rattled.

Hark only chuckled, then looked up again. "Well, Reno, you in?"

This time, Reno grinned for real. "Oh, yeah. I'm in."

-

Author's note: Well, wasn't that anticlimactic? The next chapter probably won't be up for a while, but I'll leave you with the promise that it will contain interaction - of the Reno and Rude variety. At long bloody last. I've been dying to write it for ages, so I can only imagine how you all feel.

Sorry if Tseng came off as a bit OOC in this chapter. His BC character description states that he's not quite as collected then as he is in the game, and that he has problems controlling his temper, so I'm trying to portray him as someone younger, less experienced, less tempered, I suppose.

As it is, the score stands at Reno: 1; Rude: 0. Just don't get too used to that, though. ;)

Till next time, then!


End file.
